Mothers of Durin
by CookandBaker
Summary: (Sequel to Malin Fundinul) Fantasy Period Drama. After the BOFA, there is no happy ending. This is the story of female dwarves and life in the (not so) Lonely Mountain, the War in the North, and the birth of Durin the Last. Includes family stories, romance, vignettes of daily life, tragedy, crime and humour. [Nori OC][Dwalin, OC] [Fili, OC] [Kili/Tauriel] [Thorin, OC] [Bifur, OC]
1. Chapter 1

Mothers of Durin (Sequel to Malin Fundinul)

Chapter 1

Spring had come to the Lonely Mountain, but little change could be noticed. Dwarves, whether in winter or summer, live far below the ground in fortresses of stone, laboring by the firelight and usually by large, flaming forges, unaware of changes in the world above. Coal, gems, gold, and minerals were mined daily, and under the skilled hands of dwarves, the mountain flourished and yielded its bounties. The gold of the mountain, stored in vast treasure-houses and guarded carefully, still smelt of dragon. The king, Thorin, still suffered from the after-effects of having the gold-sickness purged from his system. The ringing in his ears and the hollow of his heart had not mended. Years he had spent pining after the mountain and its gold, and now, having both of them regained, but having painfully lost his desire for them, his mind lingered in the corridors between sanity and madness. These corridors sang of emptiness.

Yet in spite of his difficulties, Thorin was king. He threw his energies now into reviving and restoring what the years had cruelly wrenched from the hands and hearts of dwarves - their culture, their crafts, their reputation, their magnificence. The gold had no meaning to him, but his people did. Thorin had only one aim, now, and that was to secure Erebor's defenses, build its economy, and ensure stability for his nephew and heir, Fili son of Dis. At his right hand stood the dwarves of his company, ever unwavering in their proven loyalty.

Amongst the notable dwarves of the reign of Thorin II Oakenshield stood the precious jewels, the dearest of their hearts, the dwarf-women. Some were taller, some were shorter. All were bearded (more or less). Each of them were fierce in heart, noble to the point of a fault, tough as iron and fiery as the forges of Mahal.

Tales of dwarf-women are rare, unheard of and unspoken in the towns of uncouth men or haughty elves. But the dwarves of Durin's Folk would remember well the ones dear to their final king, Durin the Last, whose strength remained until the fading of the dwarves, whose reign seemed to stretch on for more than an age. Durin the Last never allowed his people to forget the ones he called his "mothers".

This is the tale of the mothers of Durin the Last. At the last, Durin could not bear to have their bodies scattered over the plains of Middle Earth, in Erebor, in Moria, Ered Luin, and in the Iron Hills. He prepared a tomb for them, in the tomb of the dwarf-kings of Khazad-Dum, and did not rest until they were returned to the stone they had longed for but, all except one, were never able to touch. And when he awoke in the halls of Mahal, who were the ones who greeted him - not the Durins of old, who had to wait their turn, not his father, Thorin, nor his uncles, nor his cousins, but his mothers.

* * *

><p>TA 2945 - Springtime Under the Mountain<p>

The King's Council meetings were always so long. Dis grew tired of them quickly. As a child, she, sensibly, had never envied Frerin or Thorin's duties. She envied Malin, who like some of the council members (Ori especially) chose to engage in handicraft during sessions. Malin had finished the warm (but predictably dull-coloured) piece that she had made for Pearl, and was now going on to make a set of baby clothes for her little future niece or nephew in a ugly shade of dark, greenish brown that no one dared comment on. _Poor dear, _thought Dis, _I suspect she may be colour-blind. _

Dis preferred to crochet, but she had no time. In-between study-sessions with Malin that consisted of readings, discussions, cooking and leisure activities such as nude swimming in the last hours of the night, long debates with Dori on the plans they were (still) drafting for the Royal Quarters, and lending a hand in the infirmaries, Dis had barely any time on her hands to remain still or mope. Instead, she volunteered to make and wind cotton bandages and did so during council meetings.

Today, Dis sighed as she observed her sons. Fili looked tired, almost overwhelmed by his many duties. Kili looked serious, but weary as well. Kili was not one for drawn-out discussions, but Thorin had observed how visiting dignitaries (such as elves or men) seemed to warm to Kili faster than with other dwarves, and was personally training him as an ambassador or sorts. This made Dis pleased and proud.

_As if he has any talent in that regard, _Dis thought bemusedly of Thorin.

She liked to sit in a corner with someone to make comments to. Malin always seemed excited by every motion of the council, whispering to Dis the implications and meaning of everything, unable to engage in any sort of interesting small-talk, until Dis surreptitiously arranged for her to sit between Balin and Dwalin. Now Ori sat beside her, and Dis enjoyed whispering snide comments into his ears. The poor lad did not look comfortable; Kili had avoided his mother after one sitting, and Fili somehow always had the seats next to him occupied.

Soon, however, the meeting was over. Gloin had brought it to an end because his wife had sent in a message saying that she needed him for one thing after another (and dwarves knew better than to not accommodate wives with newborns). Everyone seemed to take Gloin's departure as a signal to get on to the midday meal.

"Will you eat with us, amad?" Fili asked dutifully, Kili looking up as he heard the question.

"No," Dis said, ignoring the thinly veiled look of relief on her sons' faces, "I promised Oin I would have a quick sandwich and then sit by one of the patients. He's an old dwarf and I don't think there are many days left for him."

"I understand, amad," said Fili, "Will you join us, Lady Malin? It will just be my council, it seems."

"I would ask about the beer," Malin replied, "But I know you lads better that that. I would, yes. Grof has yet to tell me how she's getting on."

"Well enough, I hope," Floi jumped into the conversation with Grof hooked onto one arm.

"Let me escort you, Lady Malin," offered Frar.

And then the party set off for lunch.

* * *

><p>Dis hesitated by the passageway to the infirmary. It had a perpetually open door that allowed for emergency entrances. She usually loved the smell of the infirmary with the strong, potent herbs drying or infusing, the bits of steam or alcohol that wafted about, and the hot soap mixture that was scrubbed onto the stone floors and walls almost every day to keep it clean. For the past few days, Dis had spent several hours with Gryel, a mysterious and frail-looking dwarf who did not look as if he had many days left. Oin had always said Dis has a way about her with ailing or dying folk. In actuality, she was a good listener, which he was not. Gryel, in-between gasping for breath, had many, many things to say. He made all sorts of observations about the people about him, and was very cheeky. Dis came in the afternoons, where he lay alone in the bed in the corner (his daughter visited in the morning or evening whenever she was off work). Sometimes he told Dis about his early life, which was very exciting and fascinating, but no doubt, Dis thought, completely fictional. No one could be <em>that <em>much of a rascal, thought Dis, rolling her eyes. The things he claimed to have done, to have seen!

"At your service!" Oin beamed cheerfully when Dis entered. Gryel's bed was empty. Dis's face sobered.

"At yours... where is Gryel?"

"Who?"

"Gryel!"

Dis pointed urgently at the empty bed. Gryel's coat still sat, folded, on the side table made of one of his barrels.

Oin turned about.

"Oh, that fellow. Sneaky one, he is. Crept out of the ward at daylight whilst I was busy making a tonic."

"Why aren't you looking for him? What if he collapses somewhere on this mountain and..."

Oin held up his ear-trumpet. It would not do to anger the princess by ignoring her obviously excited conversation.

"I checked his vitals myself last night," Oin protested, "The tough geezer is not dying anytime soon, at least not this week. Who knows what he'll be like next week..."

"He said he was dying!"

"He thinks he's drying," sighed Oin, "Has a bit of breathing trouble and a weak heart, but one really can't tell. But a feisty body, he has. Feels better when he feels like it, too. Most troublesome patient I've ever had."

"Oh."

"He'll be in here by supper," Oin pointed his finger at the bed, "Moaning and complaining as usual. Can't make up his mind to be sick or well."

Dis shook her head. She could imagine. She set the basket of cotton bandages down and asked,

"Anything to do?"

"There's a lass," Oin pointed to the adjoining room, "Came in this morning with bad burns on her face and hands. Hysterical. Elekh and I saw to her, but she needs her bandages changed in half an hour. Cries a lot."

"I'll take a look in. Is she sleeping?" Dis signed the last sentence as Oin had put his trumpet down and was using it to funnel rosehips into a bottle.

"Won't sleep." Oin said a little loudly.

_Poor thing, _thought Dis.

The lass was distraught. She curled on the bed, crying, the salty tears running her cheeks and soaking the face-bandages, causing her wounds to sting. She looked like a _really _bad case.

"You need some drowsing-tonic, lass," Dis commented when entering the room. The lass look up at her miserably.

"Don't want some," she murmured, looking back down at her bandaged hands, "Amad says you could get addicted."

"Only a little," promised Dis, pouring some from a bottle by the lass's bed which she had obviously refused, "And it will help you sleep."

"Don't want to sleep," came the muffled complaint.

"Drink up," commanded Dis in her sternest voice, "Stop talking, it hurts your wounds."

The lass obediently opened her mouth while Dis fed the strong syrup, and followed it with a hot tumbler full of lumberberry tea.

* * *

><p><em>Grof and Floi are going to have a houseful, <em>Malin thought, laughing quietly.

Grof was used a big family, and she kept telling Malin that cooking for two and cleaning for two was so... boring. Already two weeks married, Floi could not stop cheekily flaunting his bride and engaging in public embraces, to the other dwarves' disgust. It didn't help that Grof, though she only inherited a small fraction of the culinary talent of her forebears, Bombur and Iga, had served a dark, juicy pair of roasted legs of lamb for their midday meal. It had been stewing in the oven whilst she attended council. Floi's eyes were practically rolling at into his head with all his happiness. It was as if his beard had grown two inches in a week.

Fili closed his eyes for a brief moment to dispel the thoughts that threatened to race into his head at the sight of Floi and Grof's display. Frar poked his brother Floi and told him to shut up. Kili made a snide comment - _he _did not keep his comments to himself. Malin tried to change the subject, and Ori tried to help her. Poor Ori - he and Grof had shared many interests, but Ori could blink twice, or get to know the lass better, Frar had snagged _and _married her in a short period of time. That was often the way with dwarves - lasses were few and in high demand. Then again, half of dwarf lads wouldn't blink twice a lass, what with their love of gold and gems, minerals and other gifts of the mountain.

There was no conversation at lunch - any subjects Fili tried to introduce were ignored, as the dwarves were busy indulging their sense of taste beyond what their minds were capable of processing. Therefore, Malin made her move to leave soon afterwards. The engorged party of dwarves had decided to part ways for an after-meal snooze.

* * *

><p>Pearl, the newly-married wife of Dwalin, was busy. She always was. Dwalin loved to have her with him throughout the day as he went about his business, and other than cooking and giving orders to the capable servants, she found herself with him half the time. When Malin came home for a nap, she could see Pearl in the kitchen. Pearl did not simply <em>cook, <em>she worked magic, or so the family believed. No one could cook a scrumptious meal and _then _leave a spotless kitchen after it. That was simply not dwarf-ly possible.

Nevertheless, Pearl's mind was not in the food but in an notebook she had borrowed from Oin, a treatise on dwarven backbones and ailments related to it. Dwalin's spinal cord worried her, and he always seemed to be rubbing bones as if a pinched nerve disturbed him. He had not been like that before the Quest, or Pearl would have noticed. Now, Pearl's eagle eyes caught Dwalin discomfort and her brow frowned in worry. Oin's advice, and the book, spun in her mind as she contemplated how to broach the topic without Dwalin becoming defensive.

* * *

><p><em>Spring in the Iron Hill<em>

Dain watched from his sister's lofty balcony as the continuous spring rain lessened in its intensity ever so gradually. Soon, it would be clear and bright enough for them to set off on horseback. During his grandfather's reign, the road between the kingdoms of the royal brothers Gror and Thror had often bustled with activity in the spring. Many hadhad become accustomed to watching the downpour lessen, and now, in very recent times, it had resumed.

He had made all his arrangements, now it was only a matter of time. Still, he had come to see his sister after a council meeting. Ever since Malin had left for Erebor, Dena had become lonely and restless, which meant that she attended many of Dain's council meetings. Of course, she was clever. She was brilliant, and sound in her advice. She was mature. But she also could be sharp, and the council did _not _relish being told off by a female. Dain always took a softer approach with his rulers and nobles, Dena did not. Dain had always been the calmer, more reserved and diplomatic one. She had been a fiery lass, and now, a just-as-fiery matron.

Dain had loved, some say spoiled, his sister. An unmarried female, no matter how rich and powerful and high-born, was, still, an unmarried female. Dain did not pay heed to any convention in that regard - he loved her as much as their grandfather and father did, and gave her every freedom, every advantage, every luxury, every opportunity. The council had urged him over and over again, egging him to push for a suitable match. Years had passed, and they had advocated for one eligible and rich dwarf after another, but Dena had not fallen for any their wooings. Dain would never allow his sister to marry if she did not wish to. Even Dena herself grew restless and lonely, and more willing to "settle", but Dain would cut right to the heart of the matter and insist that she was happier alone than she would ever be with someone who did not suit her or really love her. So she remained a spinster.

Once, there had been that young, penniless, stable-boy, sincere in his love, and Dain had approved of him, but he had died shortly before they were to be engaged. Offers aplenty she had had since, but, notoriously, no dwarrow had succeeded in winning her heart or hand.

"What is there is no one good enough for me?" she had cried at the grand old age of a hundred, having refused a handsome, young, but insincere and foolish suitor.

"Then you are better off alone," Dain had comforted her, with determination in his voice, "I will not see you unhappily wedded, sold off to gain alliances or wealth."

And now, Dain had no other motive in bringing her to Erebor than to make her happy and busy and get the council off his back. With Dena temporarily relocated, the council would be able to breathe a sigh of relief, that is, if they weren't tied up in knots about hoping she would get married (and be permanently relocated). The council members were over the moon with Dain's new move, thinking and not-so-vaguely hinting that Dain should arrange for her to wed the King Under the Mountain himself. Dain recoiled at the idea, and he told his council so firmly. In his mind, the Lord of the Iron Hills was rather afraid of Thorin and his instability. Such a moody, bad-tempered dwarf was no match for his sweet sister. Even if Thorin Oakenshield personally demanded his sister in marriage, Dain would not give in. He would rather surrender his kingdom than to sell his sister like a cow at the market. No, not for all the gold in Erebor, declared Dain to himself as he stood on the balcony.

Dain rather fancied a match between Balin son of Fundin might be ideal. Balin was kind, understanding, wise... a perfectly noble and honest dwarf. He hoped Dena might find a soulmate in him, and looked forward to their introduction.

Dena was humming as she packed her bags. She missed _her _Malin and was furious when Malin was sent away. After all, she had fumed, Malin was _ours. _She had been raised by us, fed by us, with nary a word of coin from two gallavanting brothers for a more than a hundred years... why did they have a right to send for her? Take her away?

"She is their kin," Dain had said soothingly.

"She is ours too," Dena nearly cried. Dena did not like seeing her "baby" taken away. They had become so attached. She did not feel safe sending her on a journey, not after their last, traumatic separation.

"Her brothers will protect her," Dain insisted, "They are fierce dwarves, not ones to be toyed with. And my men will guard her on the journey. They will see no ill happen to our Malin."

"What if she is lost? What if she is separated?"

"Hush, dear," Dain said, "It will be good for Malin to be on her own two feet. Be on her own."

And that was that.

Now Dena couldn't wait to be reunited with her. And Dena would greatly enjoy the journey by horse, rains or no rain. Even as a young lady, she had taken to riding so quickly. Her grandfather Gror had had a track built inside the mountain just for her, so that she could ride in the wintertime. It had completely flabbergasted her so when Malin screamed and cried every time she was placed on a horse. Dena would never understand how _anyone _could dislike horseriding. They had a stable, of course, of horses that belonged to the royal family (but mostly to her). Windy, the strong young male pony, would be her ride to Erebor. He had black hair and fur (Dena's favourite colour because it had been her father's and grandfather's) and white star-like markings on his body.

"I am as yet unsure as to how I am to pack... What am I to bring..." mused Dena out loud. She knew without turning around that her brother had reentered her rooms from balcony. Her balcony had the best view in all the hills. Two servants had just been dispatched to fetch bedrolls for the journey.

"Prepare for a nice long stay with Malin," Dain said innocently, capturing his sister in a playful hug from behind.

Dena wriggled free, laughing a little.

"My days of wrestling you have long since passed, Lord of the Iron Hills," she protested.

"Besides," continued Dain, "You should not worry at all for your return. I can promise you that the beauty and grandeur of Erebor will sweep you off your feet. I fear you should never wish to return."

"How are you so certain, nadad?"

"Because, namadith, I know you well. And yes, bring a satchel of healing herbs. The lands betwix here and Erebor are harsh and wild; it is always best to be prepared..."

"Very well," Dena replied cheerfully.

* * *

><p>AN:<p>

So here's the first chapter of the sequel! I couldn't get all the ideas off my mind. Updates depend on... varying factors. They won't be every day, at any rate. I'm trying to bring my writing up a notch and appeal to wider audience by writing longer chapters and including more interesting elements besides my usual Fantasy!Mundane. Of course, my personality won't allow it to stray very far...

Feedback much appreciated. This will be a female-centric fic, and, for the first time, have an actual, long-term P.l.o.t.. If you haven't read Malin Fundinul and would like a summary of it instead of reading the entire 100 chapters, do go ahead and PM me.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was early in the morning when the whole household arose. Malin had expected her sister-in-law to experience _some _kind of morning-sickness to at least dampen some of her boundless energy. A few days with Pearl in bed, not necessarily vomiting, of course, with Dwalin gone, would have been so perfect. Alas, that was not to be. Pearl seemed completely undaunted by the pregnancy, She was her usual energetic self.

The day before, Malin had been allowed to spend the entire day baking. Dis, to whom she served as a companion, was eager for more of Malin's biscuits that resembled her mother's and evoked pleasant memories. Malin, having gone a month without baking, took to it with renewed zeal and produced a thrilling variety of tea-cakes, desserts, biscuits and scones. As a result of Pearl's nagging and training, Malin had managed to do _all_ that _all _by herself _and _clean the kitchen. It was a feat she was proud of, though she knew she would have to sleep in the next two days, and have Ale soak her feet in a tonic.

The balls of her feet ached now as she dragged herself out of bed, put on her dressing gown, and trudged to the kitchen to make up a tuck box for Dwalin, who was going scouting with Fili, Frar and Gimli to survey the lands about Erebor.

"These are enough for you to share with the boys," Malin said, handing Dwalin an assortment of honey-cake, seed-cake, almond biscuits, and several other bits and pieces.

"More seed cake," Dwalin demanded, his mouth already full of it. He gulped and snarled, "I'm not sharing."

Malin rolled her eyes.

"I shall just have to hand one to the boys myself then," she laughed. Their young cousins/nephews were ever so fond of sweet things, the darlings,

"Not in that dressing-gown," Pearl said firmly, "It ought to have been washed last night. And you ought not to have spent the entire day baking in a dressing gown."

Malin shrugged. She had been so excited to bake, she did not have a second to spare to dress yesterday morning. Consequently, her dressing gown was now spattered with egg, flour, and who-knows-what-else.

"I'll wash it, milady," Ale suggested, "And you can change now."

"Say good-bye to your brother first," suggested Pearl sensibly,

Malin got a slam on her forehead, which she returned with a equal force. Balin was still half-asleep terribly tired. He didn't know what the fuss was. Womenfolk confused him. It was just a week away... back in their bachelor days in the Blue Mountains, Dwalin would leave for months, even years without leaving any notice or saying any goodbyes. Well, Balin thought, dabbing his forehead with the back of his hand, one must accommodate the lasses.

* * *

><p>Gryel snuck along the corridors in the dark recesses of Erebor. It was a miracle he managed to escape the infirmary today, the second day in a row. Oin was getting slow...<p>

Debris was everywhere, and passage was not well light either. This was a shady place for shady business, and he did not quite know what he was doing here or what he had come near to do. He was merely following...

And being followed. Gryel sensed a presence behind him, and he made sounds as if he had rounded the next corner, but doubled back to slam face-on into Nori.

_Lord Balin's guard, _he thought with disgust. _He yet spies on me._

Gryel knew it was Nori. He had been in the business long enough to see through a disguise, and Nori's was particularly good. Nori cultivated his appearance to the extent that only his outrageous, superficial style was identifiable as his. With his beard combed in a plain way and his hair done just a commonly, none, not even his kin or his wife could identify him. Nori knew the nature of others around him - they only saw his exterior. In disguise, he blended perfectly...

Except with Gryel. Gryel had a sharp eye. He had had to be on his toes, of course, living in towns of men for so long. He never lost his touch, or his fine-tuned survival instincts.

Gryel glared at Nori.

_Judge me, _said Gryel's eyes, _Go on and judge me. You may work on the ruling side but our work is the same._

Nori pushed past and walked away. He was not interested in Gryel. He was merely following a lead, a clue. Gryel was the snake who led him to the squirrel's nest.

Gryel split off in a different corridor, but they were as hounds fixated on the same scent.

Voices came now to his vantage point. Hushed voices. A female voice, the voice of his daughter with inflections so unlike his own.

"She sent you these."

"Thank you," replied a husky voice. That was Kili, the prince. Gryel recognized his voice from when he came to his mother in the infirmary. It has the same distinct, smoky northern hue.

"I do not want your money."

"You need the coin, I know it."

"It is true. But I do not hide under the cover of night and sneak into towns of men in disguise for money... you are my friend. But I must do what I can in the open and in secret to repay my debts."

"Balin will not hold it to your name." Kili tried to reaasure her.

"But I must. What little honour and pride I have left..."

"No one would think less of you should they know."

"I know. I know myself. Oh, I am have such a depraved heart. I actually enjoyed it, you know, meeting the elf, carrying her messages..."

"Thank you."

"People will ask why _we _meet."

"Perhaps if they think we were..."

"Kili! Your mother..."

"She suspects something. I've thought long and hard about putting her off."

"If we must, we must I suppose. I will think on it."

"I defer to your counsel. You always were so much more thoughtful than I."

A low, sarcastic snort resounded in the air. Ale did not like the sneaky part of herself. It seemed to spring from the hurts and bitterness she carried within.

Gryel, who was eavesdropping, grinned to himself. His lass was a chip off the old block. But he shook his head. She should not be mixed up in intrigue; she was too young.

Nori, listening from a distance, caught enough of the conversation to warrant thought. He would have to smoke on this new development later. Kili had stopped confiding in him, and had turned to the maid herself. The lass could prove useful... and the information, well, that was all very well.

* * *

><p>Dis stirred the pot of soothing honey and herbs. It was a sticky mixture and not very pleasant, but very cooling and soothing on burns.<p>

"Come on, Urla," she said to the lass, "Time to fix the bandages."

Urla was a dwarf as strong as any other, and she was cooperative enough. To take her mind off the pain, Dis tried chattering with her.

"An inquiry has been launched," Dis said, "And when you are well enough, one of the heads of the guard will come to speak with you, and ask some questions."

"I saw nothing," Urla sighed, "But something was wrong. The apothecary was empty, and I came in first thing to find the place a mess, as if an earthquake had shook it or as if a thief had ran through."

"I know, you told me dear. Then you heard sizzling, and then the room exploded."

Urla winced and turned away from where Dis was bandaging her foot... and that was not the worst part. A tiny cry escaped her throat and she clenched her fists, twisting her body to fight the stinging pain of the raw, open wounds left by the terrible burns. She then caught sight of her reflection on a steel water-jug on the table. Dis had removed her face-bandages and she was disgusted by her ghastly appearance.

Tears welled in her eyes. She looked like an orc. An ugly, montrous creature. Urla did not think herself particularly beautiful before, and she had been burned here and there plenty of times enough in her line of work. But she stared in horror at her red, blistered face in the reflection.

Urla was had a boyfriend. She did not think herself particularly in love, but her mother and father let her do as she pleased, and so she found herself getting to know that fellow from the guard. But he hadn't come to see her since the accident, which was puzzling.

"Don't look, dear," said Dis. She knew with a single glance away from her work what Urla was thinking.

"No one will want me now," sighed Urla.

"Nonsense, dear," Dis chided, "You'll be alright in no time."

"I have seen the effects of acid burns, my princess," Urla sighed quietly, as if she had already given up.

"You really must cheer up. If you don't, I won't tell you what happened to Kili and the trout that wouldn't die."

Urla forced herself to smile. She loved Dis's motherly attention; her parents were always so busy with their smithing and their crafts. They visited her once every few days, and did not stay long; she was lonely. Urla wished she had picked her mother's silversmithing, but she knew that she would be no good at it. Urla was not very creative, and thus, a disappointment to her two parents. They did not care about her gender, but they did wish they could understand her better, and she them.

Dis would tell Urla the stories of her two baby boys, and their adorable antics, and the warm, cosy home they had in the Blue Mountains. Dis loved to talk, and Urla loved to listen. She listened and then spent many hours imagining all the beautiful children she would have... and then she would be upset because no one would like her well enough now, scarred as she was.

* * *

><p>Malin awoke past the midday meal. Pearl, ever independent, had gone to a farmer's market on some out-skirting location near Dale. She had ridden there and back very quickly. No doubt it was a fruitful trip, as Pearl had now come into her room and roused her out of bed.<p>

"I've had such a bargain," Pearl said, "Two dozen fatted geese. An old farmer had twenty-five that he was saving for the solstice feast, and then did not manage to sell. Now they are slightly tough, and you know Mannish folk. They can't eat a dry bird. But come and see them Malin, they are perfectly good. We can kill and truss them today, and send them to be smoked to celebrate when Dwalin returns."

"I'd be happy to help," Malin moaned sleepily, "Just after I send Dis some stuffs for her tea."

"Very well," said Pearl, "But hurry. The geese are waiting."

So they were... all tied together in a large crate on a loaned wagon. Pearl soon got to killing them, and Malin put on her apron to help dip them in the boiling water and pluck the feathers off; Pearl wanted the feathers for some thing or the other.

The silly maids were little help; they had grown up in forges and did not have an inkling of what to do with the innards, or feathers, or skins, or blood. Pearl was busy teaching them, and Malin had to brew double-tonic to fortify herself for a long day of geese-slaughter. Ale had taken the day off, and was nowhere to be seen. Besides, she was no longer a house-maid but a lady's maid. Ladies' maids did not do kitchen work, Malin thought ruefully, but _ladies _themselves were not exempt.

* * *

><p>Ale did not return home early that night, as it was her day off. She didn't even empty the gold coins that Kili gave her into the her stash. Instead, she jingled them in her pocket and headed to the tavern... Bofur's tavern. It was time to play a game.<p>

If she wanted a chance at paying off debts quickly, she could play a game of wagers. Bifur had taught her to play. In all her life, Ale had never gambled or heard of gambling. Well, she knew about it now. At first she played no-win card and board games, but tonight she would try her luck. Who knew what was happened. If she played her cards right, literally, there was no limit so what she could win.

Later that night, having played cautiously and earned a fair profit, Ale returned home. It was spotlessly clean, but she smelt "slaughter" in the air. Malin was in the corner, grinding spices for smoked geese.

"Milady!" exclaimed Ale, "Why are you still awake?"

Malin yawned, "Woke up late, helped Pearl slaughter and prepare some geese for smoking."

"You should have called for me, my lady," Ale said, "Let me give you a bathe and settle you in for the night. Where is her ladyship?"

"Asleep," sighed Malin, "I couldn't sleep so I thought I'd get ahead a little with tomorrow's work. I wanted to wait for you to come home... I'm bathed, by the way."

"You don't have to wait for me," Ale said, "And I promise not to "

"You were in the tavern with Bifur?"

"Yes."

"Eating? Drinking?"

"I didn't buy any food."

"Ah, wagering then," Malin yawned.

"Aye."

"Won anything?"

"A little."

"I hope you enjoyed yourself. But be careful, dear. Some nasty types frequent these places. Don't stay out too late... you wouldn't want to be abducted. And keep a dagger on you."

"Yes, milady," said Ale quietly.

* * *

><p>Gryel, fed, scolded and tucked warmly into the infirmary, had been fast asleep. But then he awoke when he smelt smoke... smoking was prohibited in the wards, much to his displeasure.<p>

"If that pesky healer is breaking his own rules," Gryel muttered to himself, sitting up.

"Oh," said Gryel, "It's you."

"I do not judge you," said Nori slowly, puffing his pipe mysteriously.

"Yes, you have come here in the middle of the night to watch me sleep, or kill me. I don't know which. Care to enlighten me?"

Nori blew a smoke ring, and then another.

"Womenfolk should not be mixed up in this business," Nori finally said.

"No," agreed Gryel, "And please. Keep your voice low, the sick ones need their sleep!"

"They are asleep."

"You drugged their dinner, " Gryel had to smile.

Nori shrugged.

"Didn't need to. Oin does, to make them less fussy. It's an old trick in his book."

"He doesn't drug me?"

"No, I ensured yours was not... today."

"Whatever you have come to say, say it. These old bones need their sleep."

"Your daughter."

"I know. Too much like me."

Nori glanced aside,

"I would be proud to have you as a father."

"Who knows I'm not? I've slept around in my day, and furthermore, I know that you don't know who your father is."

"So obvious, isn't it," sneered Nori, annoyed.

"It still irks you. Your manner is that of one who yet searches."

Gryel's observation hit closer to home that Nori liked.

"My mother was away, they said. In a tavern. 'Could have slept with the whole throng and I'd be none the wiser."

"If its any comfort to you, it isn't easy being a father without knowing it."

Nori scoffed bitterly.

"But you understand my point, do you not?"

"No, you haven't spoken it. I'd know if you'd have."

"Your lass. If she can be kept out of, she should. There are much... intrigue... in the mountains of dwarves. Plots and such."

"You do not have to tell me so. I know it well."

"That," Nori pointed to the room where the burned apothecary lass was laid up, "Was no accident."

"I've guessed."

"I suggest," Nori concluded, "That you turn your loyalties to Thorin Oakenshield and to this mountain. For your protection."

"You want me to serve as a spy?"

"Redeem yourself," Nori said. He understood how Gryel felt, "Finish with the barrel-making. Serve the king, and keep your lass out of danger. We will see she is protected."

"Innocent business, with that prince and his affairs."

"But it could lead to a war."

"Aye."

"We cannot protect her if she works alone. She does not yet know the danger, either."

"I know," said Gryel, "I know. I will think upon your words. And speak to the lass."

Then Nori was gone.

* * *

><p>Dain surveyed the surrounding landscape from his vantage point on the hill where their party was camped. Every precaution had been taken, every possible spare guard either enlisted to accompany the entourage or scout the lands before it. And yet, no word had returned from the scouts.<p>

Dain had done his homework. He had mapped every inch of the route, scoured every inch of the map. He knew the alternatives, he knew the places of refuge. He had prepared, in his own way, because he would see no harm come, especially not to his sister. Dain was even prepared to turn back at the slightest hesitation. He glanced around sternly, never letting his sister disappear from the corner of his eye.

Dena was busy. Few females were in the camp, mainly maidservants and emigrating families. She was dressed in light leathers, busy trodding about the camp and tending to things. Their family had never been good at "lording".

Dena was a good-enough healer and cook, but she had a special place in her heart for horses. Now she was leading some to water, with mud all over her jerkin and breeches. Her hair was also tied plainly and sensibly with the markings of their line etched on the iron clasps. The sun was about to set, and she had not eaten since morning. Dain thought about their food for the journey - dried bread, cheese and meat, mostly. He looked forward to the fine ale and meats of Erebor, plenteous and juicy respectively.

They would ride for long hours and for many days yet.

* * *

><p>AN: I enjoyed writing about Nori. Also, want to write more about Dain and the folk of the Iron Hills, because so little is written. Some fanfics write Dain as amusing and rambunctious, some as haughty and overbearing, some as a foil for Thorin, etc. etc. So I thought to do something different with Dain, and make him someone thoughtful, kind, and (annoyingly) one step ahead of the game. I see Gror's line as being steady and dependable, and Thror's line as more megalomaniac, visionary, and authoritative. That is not say say Dain is not fierce and warrior-ly, either.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The letter in his hand was creased and folded from the many times Kili had read it. He felt so hopeless - Tauriel had said nothing, really. She only told him of the changes in her life in the Greenwood, and begged for stories from the dwarven mountain. That is, until the end. Elves were so poetic, he thought with a smile.

_Life, _she closed her letter, _carries on as if nothing has changed. The king sternly refuses to acknowledge any disruption of our way of life, and I fear that in our walled home I will simply waste away. To be immortal is to be entangled in a never-ending, never-altering routine that remains the same for days, years, decades and centuries. Time does not move for elves. It is almost as if it were fixed, immovable. I confess that my heart and mind wanders far beyond our borders into the world beyond. I simply want to see more of the world, and meet creatures other than elves. I would wish to die honorably, in battle, rather live for no reason at all. I do not know why I write this to you, Kili, except that I know you feel as I do. At some point in my life I wish to leave the Greenwood. I think about it as if I will do it tomorrow, yet I know that I may not even dare to for a thousand years. Yet, Kili, if there was one mortal I would like to see the lands of Middle-Earth with, it would be you. I know that your time is short, and every reminder of you is a reminder to seize the day. Courage fails me, mellon. I hope to find it before long, and I hope you will wish with all your heart that I would, before it is too late._

Kili exhaled slowly, wistfully. Tauriel only considered him a bosom friend, no more than she regarded Legolas or any other one of the elves. The idea of traveling across the worlds with her seemed too good to be true. He, still, with the stubbornness of a dwarf, was hopefully infatuated. There was something so exotic about elves that ticked his fancy. Perhaps he was, as Fili scolded, still a petulant child. Neverthless, there was a wide smile on his face that he carried throughout the day. He planned to explore the woodlands nearest to Erebor with perhaps Gimli or one of the others, just to immerse himself into a different world.

Not so far away, in Mirkwood, Tauriel was bored. She selfishly wanted excitement in her life, but with the migration of the spiders went any real chance she had to do anything brave or exciting. She twirled a spring flower in her fingers and made a languid wish.

* * *

><p>Dain groaned a little. He bent a little forward on his saddle, a bemused expression on his rugged face. He might just have to ask Dena for some her remedy - it was never good to have a stomach-ache mid-journey.<p>

"I best not be riding behind you, nadad," Dena said with a straight face, yet with obvious amusement at her brother's discomfort. She had just ridden up beside Dain. She knew how to recognize the signs of what he called travel-tummy, that is, his propensity to suffer from smelly gas and soft stools whenever forced to travel long distance on horseback.

"You do know," she continued, "That you have the power to command our company to come to a halt."

Dain glared at her.

"And have my company see their Lord in weakness?"

Dena blinked at him.

"I will wait until nightfall," announced Dain with a grimace, "And than I will appreciate the loan of your shovel."

"So long as you wash it," Dena smiled and urged her pony on.

* * *

><p>Balin was sick. It was nothing much, just a light fever. But he had to be several places that day, and did not want his sister or sister-in-law to know. It would not do to be confined in bed. Instead, he fortified himself with tea and had his disapproving secretary, Epher, serve as his accomplice. With Dwalin gone for several days, Gloin busy with a new baby, a new crime to investigate, and spring bringing in vistors and merchants from afar, Balin felt he just didn't have the luxury to be sick at the present. Nevertheless, he rather guiltily continued with his personal delvings into dwarven history at every spare moment - over meals, for example.<p>

Ori came into his study after the midday meal, and Balin hurriedly shoved away the schematic drawing of the front gates of Moria, done with his grandfather Farin. Ori still caught sight of it.

"Beautiful drawing," commented Ori, "What of?"

Balin smiled.

"Remember you not any of my lectures on the subject our history?"

Ori blushed and shook his head.

"Prefer to read it myself, sir."

Balin picked up three scrolls that no one would be able to distinguish from any of the many on his desk.

"You may read them while we wait for Dis. She promised to be with us when we question the alchemist apprentice."

Oin consulted his notebook,

"An assistant, actually. She completed her apprenticeship two winters ago."

"Right then," said Balin, "Perhaps I best review the notes you have made."

Balin flipped through Ori's neat notebook whilst Ori curiously poured over the maps. Balin felt a bit guilty about his obsession over Khazad-Dum. If Thorin knew, he would say it was caused by the gold. Farin and Fundin, Balin's progenitors, were not a little susceptible to the curse of madness in their line. And what of Ori? His lineage was yet disputed, yet without a doubt of Durin's line. Planting dangerous ideas in Ori's head was not wise.

* * *

><p>"I must hurry," Dis said. She was loathe to leave her chambers. Malin had brought biscuits and cakes in the morning. They were good, and Dis was so comfortable sitting with Malin and quietly engaging in various tasks, chatting about anything they could think off under the mountain.<p>

"I will guard the desserts until your return," Malin vowed solemnly, "If that if what worries you, my princess."

"On second thoughts," Dis said, "Why don't you come and bring the biscuits. I wouldn't want Thorin or Kili to finish them in my absence, but I'd like to share some with Urla."

"Does she bake?" asked Malin with her mouth full.

Dis shook her head.

"She is an alchemist," said Dis, "Works in the apothecary."

"Ah," said Malin, "In my experience, they are better poisoning people than feeding them."

Dis smiled,

"Nevertheless, the weighing and the mixtures and those sort of things... I wouldn't say it would be too different, would it?"

"I wouldn't know," said Malin.

* * *

><p>Ori sat quietly and dumbly in the corner, helpfully scribbling down every word that Urla said. He sketched her as well, and wrote down any observations he thought would be helpful. Already, Balin, Nori and Ori had scoured the charred laboratory. Now Nori was not here to question Urla, but Balin was a much better at making people feel comfortable enough to answer questions. Dis was eating biscuits in the corner, and Malin was outside of the room.<p>

Urla was calm and very recitative in her interview. This did not surprise Balin, who was knew alchemists tended to be very methodical and detail-orientated.

"So," Balin said quietly, "You have no reason to believe that the explosion was an accident."

"None at all," said Urla, "We are very organized, and only harmless substances are kept by each other. There are... caustic and acidic substances but they are kept safely in secure vessels."

"And do you think that you were the intended victim?"

"I do not think so, no. I do not think anyone would want to kill me."

"What were you working on prior to the explosion?"

"The day before, I refined and ground minerals for a glassworker."

"Her name?"

"Fona. Of the Iron Hills."

For no reason at all, Balin felt dazed for a moment. He stumbled over the next question, feeling the need to sit down. He also felt hot flushes on his face, and his hearing dimmed as he did so.

"And what was Master Yra working on?"

He did not hear the answer. He was busy trying to breathe, for breaths escaped him. The door behind Balin opened, and the dash of light made his vision go hazy,

"Balin!" exclaimed Dis, "You're looking terrbly pale."

She turned to Oin, who had just walked in.

"Get a chair for Balin, quick!"

Malin rushed into the room then. Everyone was gazing in horror as Balin slumped into the chair, Dis and Oin hovering over him.

"Blood pressure's low," remarked Oin, "A low fever."

He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"I do not like seeing you so."

"I'm just a little tired, " said Balin, "The questioning will have to continue later."

"And you," Oin scolded Balin, "Are staying here tonight. Nothing serious as yet, but we'll have to force you to take a rest."

Balin dabbed his sweating forehead with his coat-sleeve.

"Malin," he asked quietly, "Please don't tell Pearl."

Malin shook her head,

"We'll discuss it later. I will take your documents to Epher now."

Ori kept his notebook and said goodbye to Urla. She smiled at him, though it was a bit more of a grimace than a smile.

"Nice meeting you," she said shyly.

"Nice meeting you too," said Ori nervously, "At your service."

"I hope," added Urla pensively, "I will see you again. That is such a nice drawing of me that you did..."

"I will come and visit you," Ori said, "And bring some books for you to read. Would you like that?"

"Very much," Urla smiled. When she smiled, her whole face lit up.

She was not used to being so lonely. Being a hard worker, she pined for the busyness of work. She spent many long hours studying and working, and now, being sick and unable to work, she realized that she lacked very much in the area of friends.

* * *

><p>"Something tells me," Dena said with concern, "This is no common case of travel-tummy."<p>

Dain, having returned from a expedition with her shovel, handed the cleaned instrument back to her. She was by the fire, dishing out dried-meat-and-barley soup.

"You made that?" he said, feigning a gag, "If you not the scheming poisoner behind this..."

Dena laughed and poured another ladle into the soup.

"You need to replenish with plenty of liquids," she told him seriously at his wry face.

Dain burst out laughing.

"If your ailment continues, not even Dlysi will share a bedroll with you," Dena shook her head.

Dain glanced at their shared bedrolls - brothers, sisters, and brothers-and-sisters slept together on long journeys often enough amongst dwarves. Gender did not matter as much as kinship. It was safer that way, especially for nobles. He would not sleep, anyway, unless his hands rested on the battleaxe between them and his sister's quiet breathing assured him of her safety,

It was later in the night when Dain remarked, knowing that Dena was awake,

"I might just be poisoned."

Three trips to the tall, grassy outskirts of the camp already. And he showed no signs of stopping.

She rolled around and propped herself on one arm, looking at him over their battleaxes,

"I'll make a cleansing tonic."

"What if we have to stay here a long while? It will not be safe. These quite literally are no-man's lands."

"I will ride ahead to Erebor," she suggested, "It is but three days away if I ride without stopping."

"That is out of the question," Dain grunted, and then suddenly he sat up, hastily reached for a wooden dinner-bowl from his pack and retched into it. Dena was immediately up. Dain could be in serious danger, she knew. Someone who knew his habits had poisoned his ale, she suspected. It was a clever move; no one would suspect that Dain was poisoned until the retching and purging worsened. After all, he always experienced mild symptoms. Who would think it was anything other than normal?

Poor Dain. Their journey was delayed for a week. He got steadily worse, and the guards, upset at their lapse in security, had the entire troupe interrogated and under suspicion. Two were sent ahead to Erebor with the bad news but Dena stayed behind to nurse her brother. A tent was set up for Dain, and he spent many miserable hours trying to keep food and water down. It took a lot to weaken a dwarf, but five days of non-stop purging was just about enough.

_The Ironfoot, _he mused grimly. Dain had earned that epithet when he kicked a goblin-warrior, a leader of some reknown, in the shins with his iron-capped boots and sent him flying a long way off. _Ironfoot. _Should be Ironboot, really. Or _Ironstool, _perhaps.

Some of the traveling dwarves grumbled about their Lordship being ill. Dena heard a few muttering to themselves by a tent.

"Shame on you," she scolded, her hands full, "Sitting around with nothing to do but complain. You are well welcome to leave the safety of our encampment and attempt the ride to Erebor yourself, except for the fact that it was one amongst us who poisoned my brother. The Lord of the Iron Hills is not laid up because of weakness or old age, but because of an _attempt on his lives. _Perhaps is the perpetrator were found we would be able to settle matters more quickly.

* * *

><p>As soon as the Iron Guards brought their sober news, an emergency council meeting was assembled. Thorin looked grim, but he was dressed in armour and prepared to leave Erebor at once. He glanced around the council and decided who to bring. Not Floi, the newlywed. Not Balin, who had just emerged from bedrest. Not Gloin, with the new babe. Gloin would come if called, but Thorin did not wish to trouble him. Bifur and Oin had volunteered. Bifur, because he was a warrior, Oin because he was a healer.<p>

"Dain Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hillls, is in some danger. An attempt was made on his life en route to Erebor, and he now lies in the lands between, weakened. They are three days ride hence. We will ride out and offer aid to Dain and escort them to the Lonely Mountain. Kili, you shall come with me. Gimli and Frar as well."

"We will go," said Dis, "It is only right we should be present to greet Ironfoot's sister."

Malin knew that by _we _Dis meant her as well. By the look Balin gave in her direction, she knew he understood her meaning. Malin threw him a questioning glance - it was not conventional for a maid, if she could be called that, to travel without the protection of kin. Nevertheless, Balin nodded his approval. Dis was a warrior and a royal. It was Malin's duty to follow her, and her duty to ensure Malin was safe.

"That will not be necessary," the king hastened to say. He did not think his sister had to come. She could take care of herself, but he did not want to trouble her.

"I am a healer and a warrior," Dis reminded him.

"Very well," Thorin agreed, "We will ride in haste and depart from the front gates promptly. Gloin will be take leadership in my absence, Balin, I command you to rest. Keep a scout out to receive Dwalin, Fili and the rest when they return. I will take ten guards from our forces but the rest must remain. We cannot be too cautious, lest a larger plan is afoot."

Dis motioned for Malin to follow her at once. They would have to prepare supplies and gird themselves for the journey in a short period of time.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Thanks for the all the follows! I am ridiculously excited over this chapter. It is a bit of a tease, with a bit of humour but also some plot development. By the way, Dain's sister's name is pronounced Dain-ah... spelt as Dena but really should be Deina.

Chapter 4

Balin had had several good days where he had stayed home. Staying home was... awkward. Being alone in one's house with one's sister-in-law was a recipe for awkward breakfast conversations. It wasn't that he didn't like Pearl or didn't know her that well, either. She took very good care of him, in fact. It was just that he wasn't used to being taken care of in that way.

The day after Malin and the rest had left to escort their guests, Balin's fever came back - this time was a vengence.

Two nights he spent under the care of the very capable assistant healers, and needless to say he was pampered beyond imagination. The white-haired affable dwarf had natural charm, and become quite popular in the ward. Balin was discharged on the day that Dwalin was due to return. In the late afternoon, in fact, after a blood-letting session and a steam bath (which was not something that happened under Oin's watch).

* * *

><p>It was past noonday when Dwalin and his small company of young dwarves returned from their mission. Dwalin was hungry, weary, and more than ready for the comforts of home. The guards at the entrance, however, were waiting for him with their news.<p>

"Am I to ride off to join them?" Dwalin said, steadying off as if readying his horse to turn away from the gates of Erebor to ride to his king's aid.

"Nay," the guard replied, "The king has need of you in the mountain. His words were precisely that you were strictly to return home immediately upon your return and pay visit to Gloin, regent of the mountain, on the next day."

Dwalin smiled. Thorin was not only his king, but also his friend, and a very thoughtful one at that.

He disembarked from his pony, led it to the stables and made his way home.

But it was not the welcome Dwalin expected.

A loud commotion was happening, a racket. Pearl sounded upset, and when she saw him, he only got the lightest of kisses and then a plea,

" Balin is to return home from the infirmary today."

"Infirmary?" sputtered Dwalin,

"He has been overworked," Pearl sighed, "But is now much revived. The healer Tagh said to feed him a certain kind of tea but I cannot find it. I need your help."

"As you wish, milady."

"... the first maid Mour is sick, and second Wer, has a fear of the dark, spiders, and heights. She is hiding in her chambers, _crying, _because I have cleaned Malin's herbal cabinet and we discovered a nest of spider. Not Mirkwood spiders, mind you. Just ordinary spiders..."

Dwalin was already pulling the lids off jars in the pantry - he would find the herbs.

* * *

><p>Balin entered their halls quietly, and saw Dwalin's muddy traveling boots hung up near the front door. But he stopped in his tracks and turned quite a dashing shade of beetroot when he heard a commotion coming from the kitchen.<p>

_The kitchen, no_ less, thought Balin with wide eyes.

Pearl was screaming,

"Almost there! _Almost _THERE!"

Dwalin could be heard grunting, and he muttered something like,

"My back is splitting. I can't possibly get you any further up than this!"

"Well, you just will have to try, won't you?" came the loud and indignant reply, "Or else Balin will get no sleep tonight."

Balin face went from red to purple. He shielded his eyes when passing the wide and unavoidable entrance to the kitchen, but shocked when a tumbling and crashing sound came very near him. He winced and cowered in the corner, but glanced up involuntary.

Dwalin was holding Pearl up to the top of the kitchen cupboards by her waist, and in trying to grasp a tin of dried tea leaves she had dropped the tin noisily. There was nothing Dwalin liked better than carrying Pearl (on second thought, he wouldn't say _nothing_) but he soon lowered her tenderly into his arms and down to the floor.

"Brother!" he stepped towards Balin anxiously, "You look terrible."

Balin shook his head,

"I am well."

"The healers have set you free, I reckon."

"Aye," said Balin, "But they are well-trained and very kind."

"And what's this I hear," Dwalin commented as he bent and helped Pearl scoop some scattered tea leaves that had spilled when the tin burst open on the floor, "That in my absence my brother has taken ill, the mountain has been taken over by cousin Gloin, and our sister has departed on a mission with the king and princess?"

Pearl slapped his hand, "No! You are not putting that back into the tin. Disgusting dwarf..."

Balin shrugged,

"She went with Dis to see their cousin, the lady Dena, I believe."

Dwalin folded his arms and asked some questions about the current state of affairs. Balin was adjusting the belt about his waist.

"Stop that!" Pearl poked her husband, "Wash your hands, you'll get the tea leaves all over your tunic, and then all over the house, and then there's no roast beef for you, mister."

Dwalin stuck out his jaw defiantly, but wordlessly obeyed his missus. There was no point crossing her, even if she was ridiculous about things like washing hands and sweeping floors.

Balin smiled coyly (almost haughtily), but soon wiped the grin off his face when Pearl scolded _him _for exerting himself and locked in his room to get a good rest, with hot tumbler of smelly tea, no less.

* * *

><p>Malin hated riding. She grimaced at the thought of a three-day-long journey. But she did want to see Dena and do what she could to help Dain. It was not good to have a company stranded. Why did Dain not ride a wagon? Perhaps there was greater danger than apparent.<p>

Thorin led the company, but Dis rode right up next to him to lead the way - she was a good navigator. Little was said by anyone, Malin rode close to Oin and Bifur across the green, damp plains. They rode in haste, soberly, with the horses laden with more than enough food, medicine and supplies.

There was nothing to do. There was nothing to see. Malin thought she would go mad with boredom, if wasn't for Oin. Oin liked to tell stories. And Malin liked to listen to them. He knew a lot more than her, even as much as Balin, of Dwarven lore and culture.

"How does Mahal speak to us?" Malin yelled, causing the two guards riding in front of them to turn their heads slightly behind.

But it didn't matter - Oin heard her.

"Through stone, mostly," Oin said, "Through our craft. He taught us to smith, to mine."

"But what if we don't smith or mine... like what do healers get to do?"

"Mahal is a _maker,_" Oin rambled, "He makes... he forges... he teaches us... I suppose Mahal made us and we're the... the... what did you ask again?"

"Nevermind. Would you tell me about Durin?"

"Which one?"

"I don't know. The seventh, I guess."

Malin thought innocently that the most recent Durin, whichever one he was, would be the most interesting to hear of.

Oin chuckled,

"Mizimul," he liked to call her affectionately, "There is no seventh Durin."

Malin could hear Gimli snort in derision. And several others, actually. Dis had heard, and she was looking away from Malin at the present, her shoulders shaking slightly.

"Oh." she said. That was stupid. Who didn't know how many Durins there were?

"There will be a seventh Durin."

That was Thorin. He had stopped his pony and turned around to face the snickering company.

He nodded at Oin's incredulous expression.

"There was a prophecy. Two years ago, at the Battle of Five Armies. A prophecy from Mahal of the seventh Durin who is to come, who is of the direct line of Durin."

Dis has stopped her horse. She looked back, glancing from Oin to her brother.

"And you told no one of this," she gasped, frowning.

"Because," the answer weighed heavily on Thorin, "I do not understand it."

Thorin glanced at Oin.

"Makes sense," Oin sputtered, "But you prophecy said... _direct line?_"

"And you choose to tell us now?"

"I was reminded of it. And yes."

There was a moment of silence as everyone's horses slowed instinctively. Hopefully, with the distraction of Thorin's prophetic revelation, no one would remember Malin's silly blunder

But then, as luck would have it, her horse tripped over a stone and neighed loudly while regaining its balance.

Everyone gazed Malin, and she felt a her cheeks redden in embarassment. No doubt they would think of her as a dwarf ignorant of her own history.

But Thorin nodded faintly at her and smirked a little.

"There is wisdom in your words, cousin," he said gruffly, turning his pony back around again, "Do not think less of yourself."

Oin was busy making all manner of faces and muttering to himself. He wanted to know more of the prophecy, so with a friendly smile to Malin, Oin urged his horse forward to catch up with the king, and save him from Dis's relentless questioning.

_Foolish. Stupid Malin. Always saying the wrong thing. Always making a complete idiot of herself. _

* * *

><p>"Come," Balin motioned to Nori and Ori, "We don't want to keep Urla waiting."<p>

Nori swept past Gryel's bed to make his way to Urla's room. The old fellow now came and went as he pleased, though Balin insisted, much to the young healers' dismay, that Gryel remain under their care.

Gryel turned his head to Nori. They had not exchanged any words since Nori's nocturnal visit, nor had he said anything to Ale. With Ale's mistress away, she was spending more time in the tavern, drinking a little and gambling a lot. So far, she had been cautious _and _lucky. This was no secret, but with her weapons master away as well, he worried that she would fall into bad company.

Nori felt proud that he had been left to watch over the security of the mountain, under Gloin's authority, of course. Ori had been secretly hoping to be called away on a mission without his brothers - he was, after all, veteran of war. Ori was tired of being treated like a child. He was tired of not being noticed by anyone - by the king, by the councilors, by lasses... young Gimli had been chosen but Ori had not. Ori had not even been acknowledged or mentioned. It was like he didn't exist. He had hoped, in his small and quiet way, to earn respect from the dwarf he admired so greatly - his king. And even more than that, Ori really hoped to come into his own.

They stepped into the little room and closed the door. Today, Nori would ask the questions. And he knew what to ask. Nori was a hair's breadth away from unraveling the mystery and he took care to include Ori in the scheme.

* * *

><p>The lady of the Iron Hills. Ever dignified. Some called her haughty, some were afraid of her - her and her intelligence and sharpness of mind, amongst other things.<p>

She now ruled the camp. Guards were posted at every hour. Food was under her direct and constant supervision. Suspects were rounded up and interviewed. Dain was kept on bedrest and a strict diet.

"Namadith," he croaked, "If I die, you must tell my heir about the blood oath."

"Silly Dain," she poked him, "No dwarf has or ever will die of poison. Unless its Morgul poison, that is. In which case you would have already been dead. Now seeing as your system is very much active, I would say... Nevermind. Stop harassing young Thorin"

"The blood oath is no subject of jesting," Dain protested.

"I know." Dena said soberly. She left the tend quietly, her back turned to Dain. He knew she was crying. It still hurt; it still stung.

Memories washed over, and for a moment her eyes lost their focus. Of course, no dwarf who thought of Azanulbizar did not weep. She had not been there, but Dain had.

A very young Dain had once said to Thrain, "You are the father of our Folk. We have bled for you, and will bleed again."

It was a blood oath. A bloody oath. No cuts needed to be made to seal the blood. The seal was in the burial grounds in the field of battle where Nain their father lay buried.

And now, she would meet this king, the heir to the oath of blood to which Dain and all his house and all his kingdom and all the Iron Mountains had pledged and bled for.

"Thorin Oakenshield," she mumbled, "The father of our Folk. We have bled for you, and will bleed again."

She wondered what she would see in the king.

* * *

><p>"We must solve this," Ori said, fretting over the dinner table unable to get all the facts and notes out of his mind, "We must find out who caused Urla's injury."<p>

Nori looked up. He didn't want his baby brother tangled up in the risky business of solving crime. Then again, he didn't want Ori to come on the Quest either. What had possessed them...? He looked down at the actual baby in his lap, the son he was holding the baby whilst his wife ate. Dori came and took the child the moment he had finished his own meal... the only disruption to their pleasant and near-perfect domestic scene was that Lallek was angry with him because she caught him disappearing in the dead of the night and that Ori was restless.

Nori sighed and decided to go along with Ori - it was time they spent more time together and Ori started learning the ropes. He agreed to Ori's suggestions. He offered some practical advice of his own. They made their plans - tomorrow, the brothers would make their rounds, interviewing the apothecary master, Urla's parents, and several othes.

"You just sit back," Nori boasted as he pushed away his plate, desirous of impressing his little brother (knowing that it would have no effect save a negative one on his elder brother), "And watch me. This is what I do."

* * *

><p>She had found a spare moment. She could have chosen to rest her feet, to relieve her hells of the pressure she had been putting them through, standing around all day as she did.<p>

But Dena had something else she had been meaning to do if she had a spare moment - brush her horse, Windy. The black pony had been secured to a make-shift hitching post with several other horses. And then after that, she would go and sit by Dain until he slept.

She did not sleep. She did not need to. She had to watch him.

* * *

><p>Dwarves can go many hours, or even days without food. Malin, however, had never had much endurance training her life and the long day of riding without stopping to eat or drink wearied her more than she liked to admit. By the time it came to set up camp, she felt dazed and extremely exhausted, but she busied herself and tired to ignore the gnawing pain my her stomach. Traditionally, dwarves do not eat until their king has eaten, and the king will not eat unless the entire camp was settled.<p>

Malin determined that she would not look like a weakling; she would not shame her brothers or let Dis down. She knew how intolerant the king was of weakness. According to Balin, the burglar, Bilbo had been at the receiving end of his ire on more than one occasion.

The journey was taking a greater toll on Malin than she had thought it would. This was the way she had come two years ago, and now she was retracing steps, going nearly halfway back to the only home she had known for a long time. Malin felt a pounding headache come on. and she willed herself not to get a cold-sweat attacked which happened more than once to her before.

"Have something to eat, cousin," Oin commanded. He was leaving his pack, legs crossed, and resting, "I know a hungry face when I see one."

Malin shook her head and glanced where Thorin, who didn't appear to think at all about food, was pouring over a map with Kili and Gimli.

Oin's eyes followed hers. He felt personally responsible for Malin on this journey - they were direct cousins and the closest relations.

Dis came and sat by them before Oin could say anything.

"I am _starved,_" Dis announced loudly, kicking up her heels, "Absolutely famished."

"So am I," agreed Oin.

"Actually, I am, too," said Malin quietly, almost breathlessly. The lack of food was making her giddy.

"_I am serving dinner now,_" Dis announced, "And I do not care whether my brother is hungry or not."

And so she unpacked some bread and a hunk of cheese began to tear into it ravenously. She handed Oin and Malin a hunk of bread and cheese each. Malin accepted it tentatively - she had been raised with good manners, to follow the necessary customs and traditions. Malin was about to put a crumb of bread into her mouth when she heard a loud exclamation and that made her drop the piece of bread on her lap.

"Supper!" Thorin almost shouted in surprise when he noticed Dis choking down dry bread, "I nearly forgot."

Malin breathed out in relief. She picked the bread off her skirt and collected the crumbs carefully.

"Thank you, Dis," said Thorin, taking his share and eating it with the grace of an eagle in flight. The dwarves soon began to feast rowdily, though they were careful not to waste precious energy. Bifur, for example, was eating his food with the grace of a warg in battle. Malin took small but greedy bites - she did not want to risk eating too fast and upsetting her stomach, making an even greater fool of herself.

Malin also drank the last of her tonic and decided to make a larger dosage for the next day to drink whilst riding.

"Come," said Dis, shaking the crumbs off her skirt, "We must bathe. I will not appear before my lady cousin as dirty as an orc."

Malin obediently followed. She had taken to following Dis everywhere, since she was uncomfortable going to the privy on her own. They found a quiet stream at a safe but private distance, stripped, and laid their clothes on a rock.

Dis was still a little "hyper" over the revelation of Thorin's prophecy.

"Ah," she said for the third time, "That means Thorin will finally marry. Imagine that! And have a son as well. I shall certainly choose a mate for him."

Malin smiled at Dis's cheekiness.

"Say," Dis thought, "What about you, Malin?"

Malin frowned. That was stupid.

"No," she replied, shaking her head, "Me, queen?"

"You're right," Dis said, seriously, "You're my friend, and yet I cannot ever see you as queen. You're not right for it at all."

Malin had to smile at Dis's bluntness.

"There's the Lady Dena," she suggested suddenly, a thought springing into her mind.

"You don't say," Dis whispered excitedly, "Oh, I couldn't wait to see her, and yet now I am presently bursting with eagerness."

"Calm yourself," Malin suggested, "And let us complete our baths."

"Ahh," Dis sighed, lowering herself into the shallow but clear water, "This is wonderful. The insides of my thighs are rubbed red from the jumpy horse."

"We can switch horses, Dis," Malin said. She was wiping herself all over with a wet cloth.

"We can ride together," suggested Dis whilst Malin shivered. The cold water did not have such a pleasing effect on her as it did on Dis. Malin did not want to lower herself into the water. Instead, she stayed knee-deep and wiped herself clean instead. This irritated Dis.

Muffling a giggle, she splashed Malin. Malin was too shocked to respond, and Dis splashed her again. This time she squealed. And then a subdued but thrilling game of splashing commenced.

"Dis," came a thundering voice over the plain, "Cease your tomfoolery and go to bed. We are waiting for our baths."

Malin and Dis immediately shielded themselves, afraid of any possible intrusion into their feminine privacy.

"We can hear you from camp, amad!" came a lighter voice that was promptly snuffled. Kili liked to poke fun at his mother whenever the rare opportunity arose.

"If I find you have been peeking on me, son," Dis's equally fierce voice thundered, "I will have you tied to a tree and left to the orcs, heir or no heir, you disrespectful wildling!"

Malin was dressed in no time. She hid behind Dis in shyly, lowering her eyes when they entered camp. Dena would not approve of this childish behavior. Dis had none of her reticence, and noisily partook of some ale before spreading out her bedding.

"Here, Malin" she pointed the spot next to her, "It's nearer the fire."

Kili came out of his shadows to reluctantly give his mother the required "good-night kiss". Then he returned to his place at Thorin's side, cheeks reddened from the display.

The night was chillingly cold, but Malin was soon snuggled under Dis's fur blanket and held tightly in the princess's arms. There was nowhere to move or turn because Dis's grip on her was unrelenting. Soon, the voices around them dimmed and the fire died a little. Gradually, Malin found herself sleeping. Dis was soft; Dis was warm. It was amazing that they had in such a short time become close friends, after a long time of _not _being friends at all.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Writing chapters takes longer now than with the previous fic. I hope the story is more coherent and interesting... would really appreciate reviews... your suggestions, prompts, opinions, impressions, anything :) (Pretty please?)

Chapter 5

The ironsmith, Fona, was scowling. She put her smith's hammer down with a threatening thud and glared at the figure.

"Are you not going to greet your adad?" came the hideously cheerful voice. Fona shuddered.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, stepping back warily.

"Fona," came the voice.

"Where is amad?"

"At home."

Fona thought for a moment of her mother, alone in their cold home in Iron Hills.

"Alive?" she questioned drily.

"Your mother is much too alive for my liking."

There was a pause.

"I have built a new life here, thank you very much," she glared at the entrance, "And I think I know what you have done."

"So, you have found a lover, is that what?"

"No," Fona spat, "I have a trade and I make decent living."

The young dwarf lass, hunky and well-built, stood tall and towering by the forge.

"Go away," she demanded, wanting to cry and run in her father's arms but willing herself to sound cold, "We don't want your kind around here. I will not hide you. I will not engage in your plots. And if they come looking, I will tell them."

There was silence.

* * *

><p>"Drink up," ordered Dena.<p>

Dain grumbled.

"I'm feeling much better now, thank you. But I haven't the stomach for..."

"I can't believe I'm saying this... but it's good for you."

Dain reluctantly took the steel mug from his sister, and casting her a miserable look, proceeded to down its contents. He then exaggerated a gag.

"Can't have your disturbing your Iron Insides with stream water, boiled or not," Dena persisted, gathering the jug and its contents, "Can't believe I have to force you to drink beer. Really, Dain. Are we to expect more of this new untoward behavior?"

Dain grimaced and changed the subject.

"Reminds me of the last time I was poisoned... though I know you do not wish to speak of that."

There was no reply from him sister.

"Do you think, namadith, that the same murderers are at work? The same ones? It has been a long time... I will have the guards look into it. By the way, have you fed the raven?"

"And sent it back too, while _you _were sleeping."

"I cannot show my face for shame," Dain groaned, covering himself with a blanket, "The Lord of the Iron Hills gets the soggy shits and the King of Erebor comes to escort him."

Dena chuckled, and then scolded,

"You are coming out to meet them, Dain. Your groans do not fool me, I know you are quite well at the present."

"They should be here soon," mused Dain, "We should have our packs... repacked. And have a meal put out for them - they will be weary."

"Aye," Dena replied, and turned to leave.

"Namadith," he called after her, "I wish I could be of more help."

She turned around and bent to give him a little peck on the forehead before rushing away to order the guards.

"My little general," mumbled Dain fondly as he dropped into sleep.

* * *

><p>The morning had bee a rushed one - Oin had suddenly arisen with a renewed zeal for navigation and confidence in his abilities.<p>

"We will arrive sooner, perhaps today," Oin urged, "If you'd let me show you the faster road."

Oin had never navigated for a company before. He _was _known for taking to the wild and _never _losing his way home.

The king assented.

Dis was running a heavy metal comb through Malin's soaking wet hair as they rose on horseback with Malin in front and Dis behind. Dis's hair was wet as well - they had had a brief wash in the morning. Dis then loaded her packs onto Malin's horse, and then they both clambered onto Dis's unfortunate pony.

"Poor Brindle," Malin whispered softly to the pony who had to carry two rather stout dwarrowdams as opposed to just one.

"Come Malin," Dis had urged her after a brief breakfast. They were making a hurried trip to the stream, "We will put my packs on your horse, and then we will ride together."

The day was long, but they had plenty to discuss together. For one thing, Malin still couldn't quite get her head around the eastern bread-making methods. Several attempts and lessons had resulted in continued failure.

"It's all in the sponge," Dis said patiently for the third time.

Malin shook her head.

Ever since coming to Erebor, she had been shocked by the soft, tender bread that had been served. For all her life, in the wilds and in the Iron Hills, she had only known the dense, sour, dark usually flat loaves common to the dwarven kingdoms of the East. In the West, influence from other cultures had led to the development of lighter, fluffy brown bread risen with a slightly sour but mostly sweet sponge. It was _delicious, _and Malin had determined to learn the new methods, though, unfortunately, two years had passed with little improvement.

"Ask my cousin to teach you," Bifur said in his heavily accented Khuzdul. He was riding next to them, and though he looked as if he was not hearing and could not understand their conversation, Malin knew better.

"I will," she decided. She had tried learning from Oin, Dis, Pearl, and several others. But she hadn't tried Bombur and his wife. Perhaps she would. And if they did not succeed, at least Bofur would make a big joke of it.

* * *

><p>It was an exploratory shaft, in the Southermost mine. Veigr, the middle-aged head miner, was outside talking with some visitors. It was a busy time - they were trying to determine where this vein of gold ore was worth exploring. The sound of a pickaxe, that of his companion, was deafening, but he raised his voice above the ruckus, flashing a torch through the entrance, shouting,<p>

"They are here."

She heard him. She knew his voice so well, for all that they had only been wed for a number of weeks. Drof, daughter of Bombur, set down her pickaxe and made a few alterations to her appearance in straightening a few stray curls of her thick, greasy dark hair.

Unlike her sister Grof, the educated bookbinder and Prince's Councillor, Grof was made of simpler, more solid stuff. She had taken after her uncle Bofur in looks, with dark hair, and tended to be a little porky in appearance. But years of hammering away in the mines had built her into quite a solid and muscular figure. She was a fearsome-looking woman, who smelt of sweat and looked constantly greasy. She didn't know anything about politics, intrigue, or extensive book-learning. She only knew the stone, and the art and music it made.

She knew Balin and several others were coming to pay a visit and make some inquiries concerning the morning she had visited the apothecary to purchase some exploding powder, an order that had been written by her husband. Together they would have to answer the questions, which would hopefully clear up the nasty business about the burned alchemist lass.

Drof shook her head. What was the world coming to, when dwarves would want to blow their kin up under the same mountain? Such things were alien to her. Rubbing the grime of her hands onto the equally dirty tunic she had draped about herself, she stepped out of the entrance and into the light.

* * *

><p>The rushing company reached the camp in three days exactly, winded but not exhausted. Dwarves, after all, were hardy. Dain's camp was by a water-source, vulnerable in the wide open plains. It could be spotted from afar, and the company slowed down their ponies, preparing to halt.<p>

It was no conventional greeting. The sun was low in the sky and the winds were blowing the tall grasses of the plains As soon they slowed the horses by the outskirts of the camp, Malin had spotted Dena in the midst of a small gathering. She made a eager noise, and Dis indulgently let Malin disembark from the horse and run off in the direction of a tall dwarrow-woman, undoubtedly the famous sister of Dain Ironfoot.

Barely straightening her coat as she disembarked, Malin rused to embrace Dena. Dena had come running out as soon as the riders were spotted, and she grasped Malin in her arms and they embraced briefly. Dena looked browned by the sun, her cheeks rosy. A few weeks of riding, and the one of living in the wilds off their supplies, running the camp in her brothers stead, had not taken its toll on her. She looked stronger than ever, and was clean and well-clothed if not slightly muddy and sweaty. Malin felt the familiar arms encircle her, and she did not care that all eyes were on them.

"You are well-dressed," Dena mumbled in surprise. Malin was wearing a smart red coat with a woolen tunic and breeches. Dis had chosen them for the journey for her. Dena was used to Malin wearing just about _anything _expect the decently fine clothes expected of her station, so that was rather a surprise.

Too soon, Dena cleared her throat and Malin stepped aside to let her step forward, her eyes searching for the King of Durin's Folk of whom she had heard much but seen little (actually none at all). Her eye fell upon Bifur, Gimli, Dis, and then Thorin.

"That one," Malin assured her, and Dena strode out, exuding nobility and confidence and all those things that Malin realized with satisfaction that Dis would be suitably impressed by.

"My king," she clasped her hand to her heart, "Dena, daughter of Nain the son of Gror. At your service."

Then Dena bowed low. From his vantage point on the pony, Thorin looked down at the sister of Dain, seeing naught but the long, brown and silver-streaked hair dotted with iron clasps. She had come out to greet him, he realized, and that meant Dain Ironfoot could not.

"My brother is sleeping," she hastened to explain, "But I have already sent a guard to awaken him. We welcome you to our encampment and will be serving supper shortly... our guards will attend to your belongings."

But a movement in the crowd of standing dwarves drew his eye. And then Dain walked out slowly and bowed.

"At your service," said Dain. His cheeks were not rosy with wine as they usually were. Instead, he looking pale and worn.

"At yours," Thorin said, nodding at the pair of Nain's children. The resemblance was unmistakable.

Soon the crowd swarmed around. A servant came and took the reigns of Thorin's horse so that he could disembark.

Dis soon disembarked from her horse as well to be heartily embraced by both her cousins.

"Come eat," said Dena, "Do not be afraid to eat."

"We have brought food," was Dis's reply.

"And ale," Malin added.

Dena smiled, her arm still around Malin.

"Then we will feast together."

Dis felt a warm hand tentatively take hers and she accepted a familial embrace. Dena felt at once what a strikingly beautiful figure Dis was, in her smart blue-and-silver riding gear and armour. She looked at Dis "up and down" and smiled in satisfaction.

"They," Dena nodded towards the malefolk who had gathered at another part of the encampment, "Are discussing when we leave tomorrow. They will soon be hungry and wanting their dinner."

Dis motioned authoritatively to two of the guards who had unpacked the foods.

"I see that you have to prepare the meals yourself," she said.

"Aye," said Dena, "With no servants, and not a soul I dare trust."

Arm in arm, they made their way to the center of camp where a fire had been built. Armed guards were on watch.

Malin smiled at the practicality of the camp kitchen. It was clean, simple but organized.

"Once I start the food I daren't leave it for a second now," Dena said in a harsh whisper. Dis had already starting cutting dry meat with her dagger, and Malin was put to some washing.

Dis shook her head. This was a state of things. But still, their surroundings were beautiful and she looked forward to becoming better acquainted with this dwarrowdam. She was pleased to find that Dena pleased her. They would get along so amicably well. Dis herself would extend an invitation to Dena for a longer stay, Dis decided.

Oin came about, and with some difficulty managed to unpake his hea

"I was a fool not to ensure a proper healer was with us," Dena sighed, "But I do know a thing or two."

"Efra did not come?" Malin looked around for Dena's maidservant but did not see her.

"Efra is married," sighed Dis, "Pity. She was a proper healer."

"Nevertheless your brother is recoveredl," said Dis in her low, rumbling, voice.

"My brother," Dena said in her deep yet musical voice, "Had the foresight to prepare for just any eventuality... except for what happened."

Dis snorted.

"Mine set off to kill a dragon without thinking of a means to do it."

She shook her head.

Malin watched Dena quietly. She was busy, and Malin knew that when she was busy, her hands flew so fast that to ask someone else for help would mean that work got done slower. She was also busy arranging matters with Dis.

Malin felt a ache in her throat. There was so much she wanted to say. "I've missed you," for a start. But somehow she had not found the words to say it. Sometimes Malin wished she didn't have a mouth. Dwarves with brains deserved a voice. Malin sometimes also wanted to take a pickaxe and dig herself a hole in some quiet place in the mountain never to emerge.

_It must be the depression speaking, _she thought worriedly, _I must make some tea._

Was it depression? Home-sickness?

* * *

><p>Dain offered Thorin a seat.<p>

"I am ashamed, Thorin. Truly. Absolutely undignified of me."

"Have you discovered the dwarves responsible?"

"As yet, no."

"Your guards... do not seem to be of the same efficiency in their work."

"No, not since... not since..."

Dain bit his lip. Thorin fell silent. Dain had lost his top commanders in the Battle of Five Armies. He had such insistent loyalty, proven so many times over. Though a rich and powerful dwarf lord in his own right, Dain would lose so much just to honour their code of kinship. Thorin determined to find a way to reward Dain, possibly by opening up the trade routes to the Iron Hills from Erebor. It was relatively isolated, when all was said and done.

"These lands," Thorin said, changing the subject, "Are empty."

"Easily run over by enemies, I know."

"Now that Erebor is restored, we must make these lands safe again."

"I presume that on your journey you have surveyed..."

"Yes. I may know little of farming but I do know, out of the way as they are, these are good farmlands. They should be settled, built up, inhabited, managed."

"We are dwarves, cousin. Not fieldworkers. I have thought of it in the past..."

"Yes. But some plans ought to be arranged. Security..."

"And all the like, I know."

Then there was a lull in the conversation, which Dain cleared his throat and broke.

"I am truly troubled to have inconvenienced you, Thorin."

Dain looked down at the ground as he said this. His countenance was troubled.

"It is not so," Thorin assured him, "This was once the only life I knew... It has only served to remind me of how far we have come."

Thorin's eyes wandered to where Oin was approaching.

"I should leave you to our kinsman and his investigations."

"Please, cousin," Dain joked, "Spare me."

There was a faint line of humour on Thorin's weighted countenance. Dain had always been the one for a joke...

But Dain had more than one reason to dread Oin's attentions. The dwarves of Erebor had travelled far and gained much skill from other folk in terms of healing. Dain preferred the traditional dwarf methods of treatment, which involved more ale, spices, tonic, and blood-letting than green herbs. Oin would have laughed to think _his _methods were newfangled, for the young healers always despaired of his adherence to tradition.

Dain's groans at Oin's application of suppositories were laughable to Dis, but Dena did not laugh. She turned her head in surprise but kept silent to maintain the peace. She was not herself comfortable with Oin's methods, but she was diplomatic. She did, however, leave the supper in Dis's hands and go to check in on Dain. She found Malin there.

"Such a joy to see you again," Dain was saying.

"Namad!" Dena exclaimed, stepping into the tent, "I hope you are well."

"As well as can be."

"I will bring you supper."

"Cousin Oin," Dain groaned, "Has insisted I am well."

"And so you are," agreed Dena, wiping her hands on her overalls, "See you there."

"Are you truly happy, Malin? Safe?" Dain looked at Malin with concern.

Malin nodded, "Much more than I expected."

"Your brothers are making up for lost time, I presume."

"Dwalin is now married," Malin added the fact for no particular reason.

Dain chuckled,

"Didn't see that coming. Who knows which old bachelors and spinsters might take a fancy to married life."

Malin smiled.

"Say, cousin," Dain said, sitting up, "Dena would never want me to say this, but I will. Aye, I will."

Malin looked up with concern, and Dain sighed, and continued tenderly,

"Lassie... I cannot help but feel you might be troubled by the circumstances in which we find ourselves. Myself, in this state, for one thing. Perhaps it brings back some memories."

Malin nodded wordlessly, her eyes filling with expressed tears.

"I had a feeling that it was so," said Dain, "And though you might not think anyone else realizes it, I do. Be assured that you are surrounded by family now. We love you. You are safe with us."

"Thank you," breathed Malin out quietly. She felt reassured.

"And I promise you that no one will ever suspect you," Dain added, "No one, ever. Not an ounce of blame, you hear me?"

Malin bowed her head in thanks and left the tent to attend to her pot of lumberberry tea brewing. She had hidden it amongst some rocks.

"What's that?"

One of Dain's guards had spotted the teapot before she got to it. It was a strange and foreign object, possibly a brewing pot of poison? He picked it up and held it suspiciously.

Malin took a hesitant breath and stepped forward, trembling yet suddenly brave enough to face her "demons",

"Mine," she said, "For sleeping and headaches."

The guard bowed and handed it to her reverently.

She clutched the little earthen pot like it was the most precious thing in the world, and felt a little better. Things in the past took time to get over, with ups and downs, steps forward and steps back, but progress was now not only a possibility but a growing certainty.

Then they were gathered about for supper, around the large fire. Dis dished the warm and rich-smelling dried-meat stew as well as the roasted and spiced wild pheasant, and Malin cut the skillet-bread and cheese. Dena was busy walking around with bowls of soup, graciously serving each guest as if the meal was a feast in the halls of Khazad Dum itself as if every guest were one of the seven dwarf fathers. She smiled, fetched wine, and made conversation effortlessly.

Malin had always liked watching her play hostess, though not in such a setting. Malin herself had been well-trained, but Dena had a natural flair. She had that perfect capturing smile that always prompted a response, and Malin did not notice (but Dis did, ever attentive to both her work and the proceedings around her) that even Thorin nodded sincerely in thanks when she placed the silver bowl of food in his hands. His countenance was not marked with its perpetual disapproval.

"I hope you will grace us with your presence in Erebor, my lady," his low voice rumbled.

Dena wiped her hands on her skirt and then bowed, glancing surreptitiously at her brother.

"I had intended to, my lord, but I think better of it now."

Thorin followed her gaze to Dain, whose face betrayed that he was now on the verge of excusing himself to attend to his needs.

"Your brother is well taken care of, I assure you."

"I can take care of myself, Dena," Dain agreed, "Do not dis-extend your stay on my account."

"So it is settled," Thorin said authoritatively, "My sister is greatly desirous of your company."

"I am sure the honorable princess has more pressing demands upon her time. I have heard of her involvement in the ruling council."

"And no doubt she will benefit from your experience in that regard."

Dena smiled graciously at the compliment, bowed and excused herself.

The night was pleasant as the air was fresh and cool and the wind gentle. Malin found herself in a very comfortable sandwich between the Princess and the Lady. She smelt rain, however, and had a suspicion that their journey the next day would begin with the strangely absent, ever-present, spring showers. Thankfully, she had had the premonition to pack a water-resistant cloak and hook amongst her possessions. She wondered if Dis has done the same.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Dis cursed rather colorfully. She looked around to see if anyone heard her lapse in gentility. Dena was near, attending to something. Even if she had heard, she had the grace not to react.

"Come now," Dis told herself, stabilizing her mind. It was one thing to forget the pulled muscle in her calf, and quite another to walk steadily without betraying the fact. She was a healer, she knew it was no bother. It needed no treatment and would heal on its own.

It took some willpower, but Dis had for one day concealed the fact that she had pulled a muscle embarking on the rather tall pony that had been given to her to ride.

"Malin had forgotten to tie the saddlebag," Dis thought irritatedly, trying not to limp at she walked past one horse to attend to another. They had stopped for the night, to sleep. And now when they in a rush to leave, and Malin was nowhere in sight, and had forgotten to finish the loading the horse as she was told to.

"Silly, forgetful..." muttered Dis, as she found herself having to undue several packs and retie them onto the horse, "Malin!"

Malin ran to her,

"I'm sorry, Dis," she said, "The guards asked me to come and check the camp area. They thought it was my coat that was left behind, but it was actually Oin's."

"Enough with your excuses," growled Dis irritably.

"Here, let me do that."

"Go and saddle your horse," Dis snapped, "And let me do this _properly._"

Taken aback, Malin nodded graciously and stepped away. Perhaps it was _that _time of the month, which was strange, because Dis insisted their cycles were in sync.

Dis was railing against nothing right now, but it had been nearly a week already of living out in the wilds, and it was wearing her thin patience translucent.

"Not so fast," Thorin grabbed Dis by the shoulder as she moved past him to her horse, "Something's the matter with you, namadith."

Dis glared at him,

"You are, for you stand in my way."

Thorin shook his head. He had keen eyes, especially upon his sister whom he watched like a hawk,

"Let me see your leg."

She was fussing and scolding, but Thorin examined Dis's calf silently (but sternly) and then insisted that she ride with him, that she should be looked at by Oin, that she should be carried or supported every time she walked, and that she be kept from any work whatsoever.

It was the worst punishment, in Dis's mind, to see everyone hustling about her and doing everything all _wrong _whilst she sat and watched.

Malin came and sat by Dis that night.

"One day more," Malin commented, "And then... home."

"I am glad you think of Erebor as home, dear one."

"Do _you _not?"

"Now I can say, truly, yes. But it is not my happiest home. That cannot be returned to, cannot be seized from the clutches of a dragon..."

Malin knew what she meant – Dis spoke often and longingly of her sparse and homely, but absolutely perfect married home in the Blue Mountains. Nothing, not even the grandest of gold or mithril halls, could ever compare.

At least Dis would not sleep alone tonight, Malin reflected.

"Head healer now, are you?"

Elekh, the female healer-in-charge due to Oin's absence, spun around. She was just arranging the instruments on the table. She glanced at Fili and shook her head.

"Royal physician as well," he teased.

"Nah," she glared at him, and then asked, "What's the matter. Couldn't wait until the weekly exam? Sit down and show me."

Fili sighed and lifted his shirt.

Elekh came around and looked. Her face was grim, and then aghast when she caught sight of the deep red bruises on Fili's lower back.

"I don't know where they came from," he sighed, "I have done nothing but attend to the lighest duties. Even Ori could beat me in a spar, now."

Her eyes were used to seeing all kinds of ailments, but she blinked in confusion at the ugly mottling of the skin of which there was no apparent cause.

"Do you think," Fili breathed out, "Is it because I have contract some sort of orcish disease?"

He turned and stared at her intensely, but

"Tell me," Fili demanded of his personal physician, "Is it..Am I a leper?"

His voice pleaded.

"I want to know the truth," he begged desperately, hanging his head.

Still there was no response. They had developed a kind of casual, symbiotic, but noticeably non-romantic relationship in past months. Elekh had still refused to tell him what his actual condition was.

"It is not for me to say," Elekh said lowly at last, "But this I know, it is no infection. And you are not a leper."

"That is a relief, then."

She rubbed his clenched hand soothingly.

"Come," said Elekh, "I will apply some deep-healing compress, possibly with mustard seed, or honey, or some of that clay. And oil. It should improve your skin."

He was the prince and heir of Erebor, if he survived Thorin, and she was on her way to become the head of healers. Dis had suggested, once, and quite nearly convinced them to initiate a relationship, but when all was said and done, neither of them felt any desire or inkling whatsoever. So Dis had left it be. Surely there was more than one deer in the forest or fish in the sea, she reasoned.

From her room, Urla heard voices. She tightened the dressing gown about her, having been up out of bed, in a chair, reading. She barely saw a soul, and hated seeing pity and repulsion cross the faces of others the moment they caught sight of her. The ugly, peeling red skin had healed so much, and she was no longer in constant pain. Even if she was in pain, she had been so for so many weeks now that she ceased to feel it any longer as most dwarves are capable of doing.

Elekh was so kind. She had been such a good friend. But at the end of the day, Elekh had a home to return to, and Urla did not. Urla's parents were afraid of having to explain their daughter's condition to their friends and would rather she stayed alone in a closed chamber in the healing-ward until she looked respectable.

"Elekh," Urla called out from a crack in the door, "Are you in need of assistance? Are there visitors in the wards at this hour?"

"Nay," Elekh shouted back, "Only patients."

"You ought to have had your supper and gone home now," Urla said as she opened the door and stepped out, breathing a fresh breath of air for the first time that day. She always took care to avoid visitors...

"So someone agrees with me," laughed Fili. Elekh was no stranger to his sudden changes of mood. Poor Fili – he was optimistic by nature, and yet presentlyweighed down by intense troubles.

"You should let me help with the cleaning, I do know a thing or two about herbs..." Urla continued, and then stopped. That was an unfamiliar voice, certainly not Gryel or Tagh or Meru or Dzer (the wounded miner) or Noga (the wounded smith) or any one of the patients she had come to know.

Then Urla stopped short. She did not recognize the blond-haired figure with his uncovered back towards her. Elekh was rubbing his shoulders with a clay paste.

"Hello there," said Fili, turning slightly, "Another one of Elekh's victims?"

The word victim made Urla shudder but she got a look at his face and gasped.

"M..my... _prince,_" she stammered, and wanted to retreat into hiding.

"None of that here," Fili insisted, "I am a patient, like any other, as this heartless physician continues to prove by her lack of mercy."

Urla laughed. She had to, because she knew what Elekh was like – all business, and unrelenting when it came to what was best for a person.

"All right," Urla said in a very quiet voice, "Do you require any aid, Elekh?"

"Well," Elekh mused, her hands working furiously, "The bottle of of Jaded Seltzer needs to be refilled from the stock room. I'm sure you what that is."

"Very well," Urla said, and clarified, "I meant I know what Jaded Seltzers are well enough."

She had some things to do for Elekh, and spent most of the time listening to the two dwarves chatter away. Sometimes they asked her a question and she answered. But Urla was shy. She wasn't comfortable with strangers, and especially not rich, powerful, and royal ones.

It was not until Elekh had gone home, and Urla was tucked into bed with a thick tome of "Minerals and Their Uses" and a cup of hot milk, that she realized with a start that for a moment, it was as if she did not look like a hideous, putrid goblin. Fili had not even reacted or stared at her appearance. It was as if he had not seen it, which was a relief. The healers and the other patients were accustomed to such

"Perhaps," Urla reasoned, "His highness has seen so much of battle that wounds are commonplace. Indeed, it is so."

Still, it felt good to be treated like an ordinary person for once.

* * *

><p>The journey went much slower with the torrential downpours that muddied the ground. Oin, however, was certain that they could push to reach Erebor sometime after nightfall. Ravens spotted the incoming company and heralded to news to a much-relieved Gloin.<p>

He had had a taste of what it was like to be King Under the Mountain, having been appointed regent, and, honestly, was relieved to be stepping down. And he wouldn't admit it, but he missed his brother as well.

"Dearest," said Gloin when he entered their home, "Oin will be arriving some time, late tonight I believe."

She walked around, the young baby _Gromli _in her arms and handed him over to their father.

"I am tired," she sighed, "We should put out a nice warm dinner for them when they come in, but I really am tired. He's been fussing all day and I didn't sleep all last night."

"I know," Gloin agreed, "And I have not been at home to help you as much as I should. Let me see... what if I took the babe over to Dwalin's, and ask Pearl to make a dinner for Oin and the rest when they return?"

"Are you sure it isn't too much trouble for Pearl? She is expecting..."

"She had two maidservants," reminded Gloin, "And Dwalin is practically a third one."

Ghiza snorted.

"I'll make sure we help them when their time comes," Gloin promised, "And Oin deserves a good dinner."

"Not for you!" Pearl sputtered, and slapped Dwalin's hand. She was making a welcome-home smoked-goose dinner, and it was driving Dwalin mad with desire. His wife, however, learned that the quickest way to communicate Dwalin was with physical and not verbal reprimands. Therefore she had a wooden spoon on hand that was purely to prevent the goose from being despoiled before Malin, Oin and the rest arrived home.

It was a splendid idea of Gloin's to have him, the baby, and Oin for a late supper when they came in. No doubt Dain and his sister, and Dis and Thorin, would want to dine at their own rooms, and Oin would too if he could. Nevertheless, having supper across the hallway with their closest kin was a good alternative. Pearl did not mind – as long as she had time to prepare, she enjoyed roasting a splendid dinner.

The problem was keeping it warm, and untouched, until the tired travellers came trooping in.

A note was sent to Balin in his office, for he liked to spend at much time at the office as possible. He left early in the morning and took his meals away from home. Malin's absence, he felt, unbalanced the household. And while Balin did not dislike Pearl, he was not accustomed to her presence either. He did not understand her, or, in fact, Dwalin's taste in women. Balin much preffered the company of his scrolls and his effusive and gaudily attired assistant, Epher, to a sparkling clean house with its stern, fierce, and warrior-like mistress. Not to mention that she was with child, which was something that befuddled Balin and made him feel distinctly uncomfortable.

Balin set up down his eyeglass.

"Epher," he asked across the room, "Malin is about to return."

"And you're very relieved because you miss her, yes?"

"Aye," he said, twiddling his thumbs on the table, "Should I present her with a gift?"

"Is that not a little too much?" Epher rolled her eyes, "She's only been gone a week."

"You're right," Balin nodded, "Absolutely right. I'll ask Ale to buy some cinnamon sticks from the market for her breakfast tomorrow. Mahal knows... how many she'd eat."

"Better buy some for the princess as well," reminded Epher, "And the Lady, Dain-what's-her-name."

"Daeina, yes, I shall."

* * *

><p>"Erebor at last!" exclaimed Malin in satisfaction as she caught sight of the mountain by the light of the moon . She was tired indeed of horses and riding, and more than ready to sit on a <em>still <em>Malin had heard that daughters of Men did not ride astride a horse, and she privately wondered if that were to be an improvement. She felt... sore. And tired. And weary. And more than ready to sink into bed.

"The Lonely Mountain..." mused Dena, coming up behind Malin as she expertly guided her pony, "What a glorious beauty it is. The tallest of peaks amongst the barren plains."

Dena was to miss the outdoors, the sun and wind and She had enjoyed everything that she could of this journey.

"They were not always barren," commented Dis from where she sat, like a dwarfling, in front of Thorin on his pony.

"You will rest your legs for two weeks," Thorin commanded, "And will not be allowed to emerge until the safety of the mountain has evened your temper."

Dis would have pouted like a child if this were true, but she knew better than anybody who was the _real _ruler in their domain. Thorin would not be able to keep her still once they reached the mountain, not when there was a visiting royal cousin to impress.

Thorin pulled Dis tighter against his chest and adjusted his hood that he had draped over her shoulder. _Poor Dis. _Every time Dis looked at his, his heart shrank at his own failure in protecting her sons, and was repulsed by his own cowardice and refusal to reveal to her the likely fact that Kili had, in some way, lost his mind, and that Fili was not likely to outlive her. Nothing was as it seemed, but for now, Dis was happier than she had been in a long time.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The mysterious affair of the burnt alchemist plagued Nori's mind, and he smoked many pipes at night as well as wore out two pairs of boots tracking about the mountain during the day. The king's return was only a fleeting concern - what troubled Nori was this unsettling gut sense he had that something was not _right, _that there was just _one _more piece of the elaborate puzzle eluding him. His heart beat with urgency.

He found his feet taking him to visit Urla's home once again. Perhaps there was some clue there, something her parents could tell him. A deep foreboding made Nori's skin tinge with sensitivity. It was just as well, he decided, that Ori was not brought along on this particular interview. And it was probably best that Gryel, the former (retired) head of an organized crime ring, did.

It was early in the morning, and the torch-lighters were going about the mountain resetting the corridor lamps. Some in this corridor leading up to the silversmiths' quarters were also out.

Nori noticed scuff marks on the stone flooring, and followed them to where Urla's parents were presumably still having their morning meal.

"Here," Gryel stooped and pointed at a drop of blood, so small it would have escape most peoples' eyes, "What do you make of that?"

"It could be anything," Nori reminded him, "A miner's injury, anything."

"Common outside the training grounds, infirmary and mines," Gryel retorted, "Not so common in living quarters, and to find fresh blood in the middle of the night... it isn't a good sign."

"How fresh?"

Gryel sniffed, and bent closer to the ground,

"Can't say. But it's still wet."

"If it's relevant, there will be more. Come."

They walked in haste and arrived at their destination. Signs of struggle... that did not look good.

"Door has been forced," Nori noticed, "And then locked from the inside."

"Work of a thief," agreed Gryel, "But locked from the outside using the same device."

Nori reached automatically for his dagger,s and handed one to Gryel (who was not allowed to keep one whilst living in the infirmary.)

Pushing gently on the lock, Gryel found the door give way, its frail and ancient lock having withstood too much in one morning. It was a strong dwarven lock, but years of disuse and non-repair had rendered it sensitive to abuse.

For a wizened, frail, and supposed ill dwarf, Nori thought Gryel was surprisingly sprightly. But then, Gryel suddenly choked as he pushed the door open and paled.

"Hang on there," Nori put his arm around the old dwarf's waist to support him, "Do you need a rest?"

Gryel wriggled away and pushed the door open forcefully. Nori gasped.

* * *

><p>Urla was having her breakfast with Elekh and Meru. She looked forward to her's mother's visit that evening, for she had promised to play a game of draughts with her. The rooms were quite and clean, as few visitors came at this hour.<p>

"Had your breakfast, Ori?" Elekh looked up as Ori came in with a stack of books.

"Aye," said Ori, "Woke up even earlier today, to tend to the company of Dain. Balin sends these for you, Urla. Says you'd like them."

Urla glanced eagerly at the tomes in Ori's arm, and put down the piece of cheese she was nibbling to have reach for them eagerly.

"I'll be going now. Good day, ladies," he smiled at the healers and the alchemist, "I see Gryel's up."

"Gone to who-knows-where," muttered Meru disapprovingly. Ori smiled at the thought.

"Speaking of him..." Urla said, glancing to where Gryel was running into the infirmary.

Gryel was pale, and panting.

The healers immediately dusted the food of their hands and stood, for behind Gryel came several dwarves, including Nori. They bore two the bodies of two bloody dwarves.

Urla's eyes widened when she saw the spectacle. She recognized the two dwarves at once, and so did Ori, Elekh, and Meru.

"Oh, Mahal." Meru's jaw dropped.

Elekh held Urla back, but she needed to get to work on them as soon as possible.

"Two stabbings!" Nori announced frantically, "Get the lass out of here. Their hearts are still beating."

Ori moved to drag a hysterical Urla from Elekh's arms and pulling her back into her room.

"No! No!" Urla screamed, struggling to go closer, "Adad! Amad!"

"Come," said Ori gently, "You need to come here. Elekh needs to see to them."

"I can't..." blubbered Urla, "Please."

"Use my bed," ordered Gryel, as they set the two bloody bodies down and the crowd cleared to let Elekh near.

"We found them," Nori explained, "In their quarters... stabbed in the early morning... in their sleep."

"I see."

Elekh's healer-instincts kicked into action as she examined the wounds. It had been a graphic action, with multiple stab wounds (by a dagger) to each of their throats. It was a messy job, however, by an inexperienced assassin - their hearts were still beating, faintly.

Whilst the healers struggled to save their lives, Ori found himself in a position of comforting and calming and frenzied, frantic Urla. All her bandages had worked themselves off as she fought, and then knelt in a corner of the room, crying and vomiting her breakfast.

"They're dead," she moaned, "I'm sure. Oh Mahal, it's my fault."

"Oh course they're not," Ori mumbled, half-terrified himself, "I've seen worse wounds in battle. Not on myself, but Fili was very badly broken up. Stab wounds, all over his chest and back. They hit him with clubs, pounded his flesh to shreds."

"You had elves then," Urla reminded him.

"Elekh is there," Ori assured her, "And it's no use pretending that any of us knows what will happen, but worrying about it now doesn't help."

Ori sighed.

"We'll just have to wait," Urla said quietly, before collapsing in a heap of hopeless sobs, "Oh please Mahal, let them live."

* * *

><p>Thorin was in no mood for breakfast, but for some reason the sights and sounds of Erebor had livened (and revived) Dain so much that Thorin was obliged to begin entertaining. Not that he felt tired, or that he would ever admit it if he was.<p>

Dori and Balin had planned to entertain Dain and his sister, who had chosen to dine in Dis's apartment with Malin that morning.

It was midday through the meal, and Dain was just getting started on his guilt-free feast (having lost inches of fat on the journey), when Nori came in, blood on his tunic.

"What's the matter?" Dori asked, startled.

Thorin looked up, and Balin made a move for Nori.

"The case of the apothecary explosion," Nori stammered, out of breath, "The victim's father and mother were found stabbed in their beds."

"They are dead?" Balin clarified,

"Aye, they are now," Nori nodded.

"My goodness!" exclaimed Dori, and Thorin's countenance became troubled.

"I will need to speak to the king," Nori said, and looked at Dain who had quietly ceased his eating.

"Come," Thorin stood up, "Excuse me, cousin. Apolo..."

"No apologies," insisted Dain, lifting up his hands to stop Thorin, "I understand completely."

With a thankful nod, Thorin and Balin disappeared into the next room.

"So," Dori leaned over the table and smiled at Dain, "It's just you and I, sir."

Dain reached for a pint of ale,

"Aye," he said, and then burped before saying, "Pass the sausages, will you?"

* * *

><p>It was not long before the news reached Dis's ears. She was still in bed, technically. Rugre, her ladies's maid, had borne her onto the leaning couch with her foot securely wrapped, and they were a very pleasant morning indeed.<p>

Dain was admitted some time later,

"Namad," he kissed his sister's hand and then Dis's and then Malin's, "There has been a murder, so we have been advised to ask Malin to show us the forges."

"A murder?" Dis sat up and asked, before groaning in the pain caused by the sudden movement, "Where?"

"Two silversmiths, stabbed in their beds," Dain explained, standing awkwardly to one side.

"Please sit, milord," Dis motioned, concern and excitement mixing on her face.

"Thank you," Dain replied.

"I don't see my brother running off to examine every case of manslaughter," Dis remarked,

"Nay," Dain nodded, accepting a glass of tea despite the fullness in his belly, "Nasty business. Intrigue. Linked to an explosion."

"Yes, I know the girl," said Dis sadly, "... but how was it linked to the explosion?"

"Her parents, I believe," explained Dain, "They are now dead."

Dis gasped,

"Rugre!" she called, "I must go the infirmaries at once. Apologies, I must go. The poor, poor, lass."

"You must go indeed," said Dena, nodding, "Malin will be with us."

"I don't fancy visiting the forges today, do you, Malin?" Dain asked.

"Nay," Malin shook her head soberly, "Perhaps we'd better stay safe in the princess's chambers. They are the most well-guarded."

"And so they are," retorted Dis as she readied herself to leave.

"We have plenty to speak of," Dena squeezed Malin's hand.

Malin smiled and blinked a little tear of happiness,

"But first," she looked at Dain, "I must hear all about the expected grandchild!"

Dain grinned and exchanged a glance with his sister.

* * *

><p>Dis hurried to the infirmary as fast as her feet could take her.<p>

"Poor, poor lass," Dis mourned, and sped through the passages, ignoring the pain in her foot. By the time she reached, she knew she would not be able to make it back.

But there Urla was, in the corner. Gryel was sitting there with his hands in his pocket looking troubled. They sat by two beds, pushed closer together, watching as Meru cleaned the bodies and made them ready for burial.

Urla looked up at Dis, who was panting, her eyes red. She looked completely and utterly beaten. Distraught. Lost. Gryel looked up at Dis and shook his head.

"Urla!" Dis exclaimed, and came to her side. Urla was sunk over in despair.

Meaningless. Completely senseless. Why did these two dwarves have to die? From what Dis knew of the Silversmiths Ur and Eila, they were very happily wedded and very successful in their crafts. Proud, yes, like all other dwarves. Of pure Durin's stock. Absolutely devoted to each other and unrivaled in their silverwork.

"Has they been here to ask more questions?" Dis asked.

Urla nodded,

"A little, but I couldn't help them much. I don't understand (sob) anything this."

"And they rushed off?" Dis asked. She glanced at the bodies and shuddered.

"It's a horrible thing," Urla clung to Dis,

"Darling," Dis comforted her, "We will find who did this. Who did this to you. And we will make sure no one hurts you again."

Urla buried herself in Dis's chest, trying to block out the painful reality that she just could not understand.

Dis glanced at Gryel. Obviously, he had something to say.

Signalling with his hands, Gryel relayed what he knew of the circumstances.

Dis mouthed the words,

"Security."

Gryel replied in Iglishmek,

"Guards. Spies. Everywhere. Nori. Dwalin."

Dis nodded and moved her aching calf a little to ease the soreness. It was going to be a long night.

Gryel was signalling,

"Home. Ransacked. Need girl as witness to determined what was taken."

Dis shook her head and mouthed,

"Not yet."

Gryel shook _his _head,

"Soon. King demands."

Dis pursed her lips. Knowing Thorin, he would be so caught up in worrying about the potential danger to the inhabitants of Erebor than the trauma of this poor, bereaved little lass. The villains had gotten their hands on the supplies and know-how to manufacture terrible explosives, and they would stop at nothing.

"You're in Erebor," said Dis quietly in Urla's ear, "There's nobody who hasn't understood in a way what you are going through. You just need time."

Gryel closed his eyes, obviously exhausted.

"You must take a bed, Gryel," Dis reminded him, "Ask Tagh to arrange one for you. Thank you for all your help."

Gryel stood up and bowed in thanks.

"My princess," he said, and walked away.

Dis's eyes clouded. Senseless. Why did dwarven lives have to be so messed up? Why did fate have to be so cruel? The dragon's attack was senseless. The many lives lost were senseless. The Battle... at Moria... the losses were confounding. It was no wonder that dwarves were always seen as grim, unhappy souls. There wasn't even _one _who wasn't sad, who had never been depressed at one point in their messed-up lives.

Dis cursed and spat soundlessly, and cuddled Urla closer to her.

* * *

><p>"I had nothing to do with it," Fona begged, "Truly. And I have not seen my father since he came to Erebor. And I did not see him then, I only heard his voice."<p>

"And you did not think to tell us?"

"I did not know what he was doing or possibly would do," Fona protested, "He was no fugitive criminal."

She broke in sobs and wrapped her arms about her.

"What's matter here," came a familiar voice.

"Frar!' Fona shouted, and reached through the bars of her cell, "Tell them I'm innocent. I didn't do anything."

"Fona," he breathed, the sinking realization filling him, "They've arrested you."

"The stolen explosives were found in her workshop. And the bloody daggers were hers."

"They were planted, I tell you," Fona insisted. She had to be brave, to be strong. She couldn't let this get to her. She had to prove she was innocent... this was all too much.

"If she says she did nothing," Frar said quietly, "The least we could do is treat her decently. And wait until proof."

"King says," replied his brother, sighing, "We have to solve this. Tonight."

"Frar," Fona called out calmly but with a desperate edge in her voice, "Please. You have to prove to them that I didn't do it."

"How can we know that you did not?" came a voice she did not recognize. From the shadows, a dwarf with a low voice asked, "If you want our help, we are going to need yours."

* * *

><p>Late that night, Dain groaned and rolled in his bed.<p>

_Not again. _


	8. Chapter 8

AN: I'm having a blast writing this story because it veers off into uncharted waters, which means I can experiment with various themes: mostly crime, food, mental illness, murder etc.. So far, the plots for most characters have been plotted, but unfortunately Kili's is the lousiest one, truly miserably lame. *sigh*. And this story is getting progressively darker...

Chapter 8

Dena had spent several hours walking with Malin. They had talked, laughed, perused the Ereborian library, visited a small mine and some forges, all accompanied by Dain's guards. But whilst Dena enjoyed her reunion with Malin, her mind was also at work. She had set herself the task of finding _wh_o poisoned her brother, and how and why he was the target of such an attack.

"Join us for supper, Dena," Malin begged, "Pearl would be so honoured. She will regal you will tales of their last hunting trip, for it will be the last for a long time."

Dena shook her head gently, and pulled Malin's head to hers. They had simple revelled in their closeness after such a long separation.

"Another time, dear. We will have all the time in the world. Months and months. Tonight, however, I will have dinner by Dain's bedside. I am to help with the diplomatic discussions."

"How is he to conduct negotiations in such a state?"

"Why, I'll do them for him, of course."

Malin smiled.

"For one thing, there's settlement between our lands to worry about. And the succession and inheritance rights, some things Dain wants to make clear and straightforward. And of course, he wishes to offer the Iron Hills as the home of our kin, as he always has. "

"The King has already proclaimed Erebor as the new home for any dwarf, but especially of Durin's Folk."

"Aye, and Dain wishes to offer anything we can. He always would. It is _his _suggestion that one of the young heirs may spend a time with us. I'm sure the princes wish to find a lass, and there are many more to meet in the Iron Hills if they cannot find any suitable matches in Erebor or the Blue Mountains."

"Tis true," agreed Malin, "But I think the King himself might be interested that sort of holiday."

Dis had not stopped whispering about the Prophecy of Durin every private moment they had together. Her head was full of ideas, and she took to the exciting revelation... like a thirsty bees to honey.

Dena raised her eyebrows, "Ah, well. He should not find it difficult, now that his beard has regrown. Dain remarked to me that Thorin Oakenshield has not aged a day since the Battle of Azanulbizar."

"I have always wondered at that. Why, he ought to be whiter and greyer than Balin by now. Even Dis does not look her age."

"It is a queer happenstance," Dena said, "For which there is no explanation except in _magic._"

"Surely he is not under some kind of spell."

"No, but our father was Durin the Deathless. There are records in the old books that the King of Durin's Folk may outlive his peers by many years if he is granted the Gift."

"Hmph," said Malin, "I see Dain has not inherited that, nor the beauty in the family."

"No, it is only the King of Durin's Folk, and his closest kin," Dena said seriously, then giggled. Dain Ironfoot was not the handsomest of dwarves, what with his fashion of beard-dressing, and the odd, unwelcoming features of his face.

"Oh."

"Dis tells me that your grasp of our history is..."

"Bad," Malin said with a wry smile.

"Which is why, my dear, we will spend more time reading and riding, and less time in chatter."

"Riding?" scoffed Malin, "We have had more than enough of that."

"Since when is any amount of riding enough for me?" teased Dena, shaking her head.

* * *

><p>Every dwarf in Erebor was armed, except perhaps Ale. She sneaked out during the supper hour for the arranged meeting with Kili. She had... news for him. A delegation of Mirkwood elves were in Dale, unannounced, and Kili could well make his way there quite by accident. He already knew this, of course<p>

Ale did not feel comfortable hefting about a full-length spear, the only weapon she had acquired, and that only recently. It still felt heavy and unwieldy in her hands.

"You shouldn't be unarmed," scolded Kili.

"You sound like my... father."

"Has he followed us today?"

"No. I gave him the slip."

"Good."

They made their plans, and Ale promised to make contact with the Elven maiden again for him. Kili could not wait for the meeting to be over because this corner of Erebor scared him. It was a maze of rubble - dark, dingy corridors, dusty and full of debris. Anyone could attack them here, and he would be unprepared. He felt oddly... uncomfortable.

"Come, let us go," Kili said, "Perhaps we ought to meet in the open."

"And have people think we are courting?"

"Let them think so. It is a good plan."

"It is _your _plan."

"It isn't safe here, Ale."

"Pshaw," Ale shook her head, "But I will bring a dagger at our next meeting if you think it wise."

"I do," said Kili.

He let her walk off, and then followed at a distance to ensure she was safe. It was terribly selfish of him a endanger a lass like that, but it had not occurred to Kili until now that she could be seriously harmed, especially with murderous thugs at large.

* * *

><p>The baby was fussing, so Lallek sat him on her knee and cradled him gently. It was just as while he could not sleep, for neither could she. She had heard that afternoon that two dwarves had been stabbed in their sleep. It was late at night now, and her husband was still not home. He was busy tracking down criminals, and she worried for his life.<p>

_Not that I should worry, of course, _Lallek sighed. Nori had made her two beautiful steel daggers that matched his, and taught her to use them. They were a marriage gift, since they married in secret against her father's wishes. Then he had gone so far away... now her father was dead. He had never let her learn how to use weapons, but Nori had. The time he spent teaching her to use the daggers were some of the few moments they had had together since reuniting in Erebor. He was always so busy...

Lallek kept the lamps lit. She was sitting in their hall, watching the front door, with the baby nursing, fussing, playing and sleeping on her lap. It was late.

It she heard steps in the corridor, she shrank in fear and cuddled her baby to her protectively. Nori never made footsteps; he was nimble on his feet and could pass unnoticed.

Hours passed, and Lallek drifted off into fitful sleep. Before she knew it, she awoke with a gentle kiss on her forehead. Nori was home. No doubt he would be taking her to bed like he usually did, she thought, drifting back into sleep. But Nori shook her.

"Dearest," he whispered, "Wake up. I'm sorry, but we have a visitor. I didn't have anywhere else to keep her. "

Lallek awoke with a start, and was rather grumpily. She blinked and saw a fierce-looking dwarrowdam whose arms bulged with muscles, and yet had a very sad and exhausted look about her.

"I need the whole truth, Nori," Lallek was saying, shaking her head.

"If it's no trouble, ma'am," Fona was wringing her hands.

"It's either that or a prison cell," Nori pleaded, casting a stern look at Fona, "She needs to be kept safe."

"Prison cell?" Lallek gasped, "You brought home a criminal?"

"I was framed for a crime that occurred this very morning," Fona bowed her head low, "Please believe me."

"A murderer!" Lallek shrieked, startling the baby. Fona flinched, "The person who may have stabbed two dwarrows in their beds. You bring _her _to _our _home."

Nori's hands kneaded into his wife's tensed shoulders,

"Please, dearest," he begged, "Floi won't bring her home to Grof's place, and I offered..."

"I will sleep on the floor," Fona said, "You can lock me in pantry. Please... It's better than a prison full of malefolk."

Lallek closed her eyes sleepily.

"All right," she sighed.

"Fona will have to stay with us a few days, until we find the real murderers."

"All right," agreed Lallek, "I'll get a mattress from the linen closet."

* * *

><p>The next morning, Fona heard a creak, and the pantry door swung open. Nori let her out.<p>

"Lallek will be awake in a short while," he said, his face grim.

"Will be required to attend any hearings?"

"Ori will come to keep company during the day. I have advised Frar to keep away as his friendship would compromise the integrity of our investigations."

"I understand," Fona nodded quietly.

"Lallek likes toast," Nori suggested, "Grilled cheese on warm buttered bread."

Fona smiled.

"If you are to entreat for her favour, or friendship, I might offer assistance," Nori added helpfully, then added a stern warning, "But if anything befalls... anything untoward happens... I will not hesitate to..."

"I will protect them with my life," Fona said bravely, "These are dangerous days."

Nori nodded, and then was gone. He had work to do.

When Lallek awoke, she found Fona had made a very nice, warm breakfast for her. With buttered toast. And grilled cheese. And Ori, who had come to spend the day armed with a large over-sized sword.

Being a young mother, with a brother-in-law like Dori, Lallek couldn't care less if someone else tampered with her kitchen, only that she had something to eat without having to break a sweat for it.

"So," Ori asked gently, "Your father came to Erebor?"

"With the caravan of Lord Dain," Fona explained meekly, a shadow of her usual self, "But he rode ahead after the our lordship took ill."

Ori looked at Fona and scribbled something in his notebook.

"He was always loyal to his lordship," Fona shook her head, "My father... I have feared him, and feared for him in recent years. His mind has been plagued with sickness and grief, and worse, a kind of bitter, revengeful anger. Ever since my uncle died. His brother was a general of Dain Ironfoot's never a kindlier, steadfast and loyal dwarf. They were... close brothers."

"Your uncle died in the Battle for Erebor?"

"Aye," Fona said, and lowered her head, "I know he hasn't been the same since. He hated the very mention of Erebor. He was... of Durin's Folk, a dwarf of Erebor. But after the dragon came, my father grew bitter against Thror and his line... and of course since the recent battle he has been worse."

She hesitantly lifted her right sleeve to show a faint red scar.

"I love my father," her voice trembled, "But I had leave when things got... bad... at home. Furthermore, there was no work for an ironsmith such as I, and I knew there would be work here, so I left. Against his will."

Fona straightened her shoulders. She was tall, towering almost. Fona had an impressive build, strength that would rival the strongest guardsmen of Erebor.

"I believe my father may have poisoned Dain Ironfoot. He had always been one of the loudest voices that prevented Dain from supporting the quest in the first place, as many of the councilors in the Iron Hills did. When his lordship went to war... and my uncle died... there was nothing to stop him from planning revenge. Against the line of Durin, against Erebor..."

"Is he mad?" Lallek stammered, and then quickly shut her mouth, taken aback by her own impetuous question.

"I believe so," Fona sighed, "I believe, as an alchemist he would have desired to blow up the entire mountain. And poison Dain. I think him capable..."

"... then why did you not say so?" sputtered Ori.

"Because I have no proof," sighed Fona, burying her face in her hands, "Only theories. Theories I cannot bring myself to believe. I would not know what he would do, would I?"

There was silence.

"Thank you, Fona," said Ori finally, "I think you have been of great help. Do you think your father"

"He is intelligent, shrewd," said Fona, "I am like him in many ways, but of course I am loyal to our king. I can imagine that he has his plans, that he will not leave mountain until he has exacted it."

"Does he work alone?"

"Usually does," Fona said, "Though there may be others who support his cause through silent consent. They only do not dare to speak out."

"Perhaps, Fona," Ori suggested, "You may be of help to us in finding him and preventing any further disaster."

"I can't," Fona cried, "I don't know how to. I cannot bear to think he may be responsible for all of this. Such shame... I cannot describe it."

"There, there, dear," Lallek said comfortingly. She knew what it was like to have a... father like Fona's. Her own father had been a terribly strict and stingy dwarf. And superstitious as well. It would been a comfort to know that he had at least loved her, but she knew that he truly did not, and never did.

Lallek hugged her beautiful child closer to her. Nori was a wonderful father. She had a beautiful family. The past was behind them, now.

Little Dhori was putting on such a fuss, now that he was now and truly awake. Lallek was trying to feed him oatmeal mush on her lap, and he wiggled, pushing the spoon away and squirting

Ori took Dhori eagerly from Lallek while she got up to change. Fona stared unabashedly at the beautiful little one, for she had seen few dwarves in her life. Baby dwarves stayed babies for three years before starting to walk, but Dhori was crawling all over the place at present. Though small at birth, he had grown into such a plump little thing, with a shock of thick hair the same colour as Nori's and adorably oversized ears.

Fona couldn't help but smile, as Ori seemed to have a way with his little nephew What a darling child, she thought, smiling. The distraction helped get her mind of other more unpleasant matters, but when Lallek returned to a breakfast table, there was a knock at the door.

"Why," Lallek exclaimed when she opened the door, "Your granny's here to see you, Dhori!"

He wiggled and fussed before Ori set him down to crawl to Malin. Fona looked up and saw the noble lady, a gigantic sword strung about her waist, bending down to greet the child.

It had been a source of much discomfort for Malin when Lallek started calling her, "granny". Goodness, she was younger than Dori and only a very little bit older then Nori, as far as she could tell. Still, Lallek was very endearing, so Malin said nothing and endured the snide looks she got from others when addressed by

"Gwanny," called Dhori affectionately as Malin carried him in.

"Well, we have quite a party here," she said pleasantly.

"Fona, at your service," Fona introduced herself.

"Malin, at yours. It is a pity we had not made our acquaintance before. I think I knew an uncle of yours, however, back in the Iron Hills."

"Uncle Trog?" Fona asked sadly, "Aye."

"I don't remember your father, though," Malin said, sitting down and looking pointedly at Fona.

_Ah, _Fona nodded, _so she knows. __She is here to question me._

Ori cleared his throat.

"Fona told us all about her uncle this morning," he said slowly.

"Oh?" Malin looked at him, "Well, I'm sure Ori has discovered all we need to know, dear. Since I am here to spend the day, perhaps we should be better acquainted. Perhaps you'd like a turn on the balcony garden, Fona?"

Malin took Fona to Lallek's beautiful balcony garden. It was a wonder and the pride of the family, truly dwarven in style and yet a veritable luxury for mountain-dwellers.

"You can ask me anything," Fona said bravely, "I only want to help."

"Is that so, dear?" Malin replied thoughtfully, "Well, I don't think I have the right to ask anything without telling you something of myself first."

She put her hand comfortingly on Fona's, and they stood and looked out on the horizon.

"Sometimes, on the clearest of summer days, I think I can see the Iron Hills from the highest vista," commented Malin wistfully, "I wonder if I shall ever see it again."

"I have seen you in the Iron Hills before," said Fona, "Next to his lordship and her ladyship."

"Aye," Malin smiled, "You may have heard of my Great Misadventure."

Fona was hesitant. She heard, and remembered gossip, of course. With people of importance, this was to be expected. Then Fona remembered.

"Oh," she said, "The... the..."

"I see you know the tale," Malin smiled wryly.

There was silence.

It was unspoken. It didn't need to be said. Malin was so reassuring, and Malin was now her friend. Malin _knew _what it was like... to be falsely accused of something. To have to prove one's innocence.

* * *

><p>"... and that is all," concluded Dena, who then paused and turned to her brother, asking, "Is that all, Dain?"<p>

Dain wiped his forehead and grunted in approval.

"Couldn't have said it better."

Balin folded his notebook and looked at Thorin.

Thorin cleared his throat.

"You have given us... plenty to consider. Indeed a cultural exchange between our kingdoms would be beneficial to both sides. An ambassador such as the esteemed Lady, one who knows the your wishes, Dain, would be for our best interests. And of course, messages could be exchanged by frequent raven flights. Indeed, I shall have to choose an emissary to send to your side. Safety on our roads and between our lands is my priority as well... yes... "

"And the succession," squeaked Dain.

"I'll look into it," said Balin quickly, "You should not be too hasty in removing you from our line, for it your right by birth."

"And I will have my council examine and draft propositions for agricultural settlements on our lands," promised Thorin, "Unless you have written them already."

"No," murmured Dain sleepily. Dena handed him a glass of ale.

"Oin will come and look at you," Balin promised, "And while we have not had definite conclusions on the unfortunate murders under the mountain, security has been increased tenfold, and we have great reason to believe a particular dwarf is to be blamed... for your unfortunate condition."

"Thank you," rasped Dain, curling himself under his blankets and tucking his chin between his knees, "Excuse me..."

"I make my leave," announced Thorin, "Take your time to be healed of this, cousin."

* * *

><p>"Poor Kili," murmured Thorin fondly. He had taken to making Kili drink a dose of sleeping hydrates at night to help him sleep. Kili didn't need this every night, just nights when he was tired and prone to dreaming of the Battle. Of course, Dis didn't know... couldn't know. The poor lad was so withdrawn he hardly talked about it during the day, maintaining his usual cheerful demeanor. Dis noticed the change, of course, but she chose to ignore it, or at least hoped it was since a "growing-up" problem.<p>

Thorin picked Kili off the couch where he had lain and drifted off into slumber, but a crumpled paper fell out of Kili's clenched hand. It was a folded letter, bearing an elvish seal. Thorin tucked Kili into bed and returned hastily to pick it up.

"Hmm..." he said, reading it with furrowed brows.

His head to turned to Kili's room.

"Another one," he thought sadly, and went to stuff into into Kili's pocket.

It wasn't as if he didn't know about his nephew and the elf. All the things Kili had done to keep it from him were pointless, really. Thorin knew, and he blamed himself. He had caused this. He had brought it upon Kili... now, in his opinion, the lad was just demented. Thorin hoped this would pass over time, but he had a sinking feeling that he wouldn't. Kili had had a head injury, and no doubt this was the result.

Sighing, and hating himself, Thorin went to fix himself another herbal cocktail in which to drown his sorrows, since strong drink would not suffice.

He glanced up as the guards admitted a healer. Oh yes, Elekh. He often asked her about Fili's condition, because Oin was difficult to talk to. He went out, and by the grim look on her face that was briefly masked by a reverent bow, he knew things were not good. Thorin opened his mouth and asked about Fili.

"Not good, sire. Unexplained bruising on his back. Breathlessness."

Elekh was for all the world a professional healer. She looked clean, and smart, and much older than she was because of the lines and black circles on her eyes.

Thorin sighed, putting his guard down for a moment. There were so few souls he could talk to about Fili.

"It is unfair to the lad," he shook his head, his piercing expression making Elekh uncomfortable, "I raised him to be king in my stead."

"Fili asks, but I give him no answers," Elekh bowed her head, and then reached into a pocket for a bottle of salve, "I came to give this to him, for his back. Twice a day. He left it in the wards..."

"Thank you," Thorin nodded and took the bottle graciously, "And also, thank you for our assistance in that other matter... with the murders and such. Balin will require an account of it from your person shortly."

Elekh bowed and retreated, obviously having many places to go, and Thorin was left alone with his thoughts.

He found himself troubled by the thought of replacing Fili as heir, with a son of his own. Thorin had ignored, pushed aside the Prophecy of Durin for some time now. Surely even if Fili would not outlive him, Fili could still father an heir.

Feeling the length of facial hair that grew quicker than he could tame it, he sat down, drink some tea, and considered his options. Truly, with every excursion outside of Erebor's walls he felt himself improving, becoming more stable and less... erratic. Balin had noticed the change and was pleased. They would have plenty of work to do in rebuilding Erebor as a kingdom, a _safe _and prosperous kingdom, and he was needed more than ever.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"My princess!" greeted Gryel eagerly, "Late for our game of cards."

Dis shot the patient an amused look mixed with mock irritation,

"Why, you ought to be out of here by now, looking as revived as you do," she replied in good humour, "And no, I'm not up for a wager today. Haven't brought any coin."

Gryel pretended to be disappointed.

"Why, gambling with _our dearest Princess_ was my only source of income," he frowned.

"Pshaw, Gryel," Dis scolded, "You can afford the frosted cherry buns with or without my poker money."

Gryel grinned, and then looked solemn as Meru the healer knocked on the door to Urla's room.

"She isn't well, your highness," Gryel said quietly, "Sits there, quiet-like, does nothing. I heard Oin say they need that room for patients, but haven't got a place to send her."

"Eavesdropping, are you?" Dis snorted, "Then why are they treating you for hearing problems, for Mahal's sake?"

"Tagh hides all the surgical knives now," Gryel whispered conspiratorially, "Just in case."

"Gryel," Dis frowned, and reached in her pocket, finding a tiny, tiny coin worth nothing more than a drop of gold dust, "Go buy yourself a frosted cherry bun. And find the murderers while you're at it. I need to talk to Oin."

"Yes'm," Gryel grinned, and scurried away, rubbing his hands gleefully at the thought of murderers and honey frosting.

"Tell Ale to keep her hard-earned coin for herself," Dis reminded him, "And not your... pastry habit. Or your other habits the healers aren't supposed to know about."

"Will do no such thing," was Gryel's last words as he gleefully disappeared, croaking an old drinking tune.

"Really," though Dis, shaking her head, "I don't know what medicine Oin has slipped him."

Then Elekh came in, armed with a basket.

"Back from your rounds, Elekh?" Dis asked, "How is Urla, by the way?"

"Aye... Urla's wounds don't require as much care, ma'am," replied Elekh as she busied herself at the corner shelf. Dis went to help straighten some things.

"It's not good for her to be in the stuffy room," Dis commented, "Like a little prison."

"As you say, my princess," Elekh agreed, "Couldn't say it better. Bad for the... the... mental state of patients to be cooped up. Especially not in Urla's situation."

"I'll talk to Oin," Dis said, "Urla cannot stay at home, she cannot return to work..."

"And she should not be left alone," Elekh added, rattling away in her usual tired-and-drowsy way, "Knives, axes... cliffs, rocks, nooses..."

"Is it that bad?" Dis asked quietly.

"The worst part is, my princess... I don't know. She doesn't say a word. That's what worries me."

* * *

><p>Dis sighed. Oin had something managed to make it so that <em>she <em>would break the news to Urla. Elekh was sitting dumbly in the corner, half-asleep, and was barely any help at all.

"You see, my dear," Dis began, and stammered, "They need the room for patients. It isn't good for you, either."

Urla looked pensive, which was a relatively less melancholy emotional state than the present norm.

"I know," she sighed sadly and bravely, "And our home is still locked up."

"It will take months for them to search through the terribly mess," Dis promised, "And then, it will probably not be best to return."

"My uncle, Bru has a home."

"He lives in the miners' dormitory, Urla. I hardly believe you are going to live _there._"

"I have nowhere else to go," Urla stated.

"That is why, my dear, in the mean time, you are coming to stay with me."

"But..."

"No, Urla. It's all settled. I am a healer, and you still need your bandages changed and checked. I have another room, and you can have all the privacy you want. You may stay as long as you like, or until your home is... is... returned to you."

Urla didn't have the energy to put up a fuss. She didn't like her decisions being made for her, but it felt _good _to be taken care of...

"I can stay alone," she weakly protested, "Elekh does, don't you, Elekh?"

A low snore rumbled from Elekh's chair.

"Hmm," Dis said, "Be that as it may, I won't have you staying alone Urla, not now. Not so soon... not when you don't have work. Besides, you may want to eventually decide upon your future, if you want to change your occupation, or move to a new mountain and start afresh."

"I've thought of that," Urla sighed, "But I don't know. I just don't know. I need time."

"And time is what you'll get, dearie," soothed Dis, "Now pack your things and I'll come for you tomorrow."

_That's settled, _thought Dis, _Now I'll just have to tell the boys... and Thorin, of course._

* * *

><p>"I am not <em>only <em>royalty, nadad! I was once a miner's wife."

"You can't simply go off and invite dwarves into our home."

"I'm only doing the decent thing."

"Does it _have_ to be you, Dis, or are you pocking your nose into matters that concern you not?"

"There is no one else, Thorin. If you want another dwarf to die, then fine. In our home, she will be protected. And she will not try to kill herself."

Thorin gasped.

"Is it that bad, namadith?"

"I don't know," Dis waved her hands helplessly, "If I did not move into your home, I might have done so when Beilli died. I think perhaps it was the plan all along - make her life so miserable she would end it. Either that or Mahal has shortchanged a very beautiful, innocent lass out of any happiness."

"Blame Mahal all you like," growled Thorin, "But not in my halls, not in my kingdom, not under _my _mountain."

"Hypocrite, Thorin. All I can say is that if Mahal counted his curses you would be ahead of..."

"Enough, this discussion is over."

"...have you seen the poor lassies' face?" Dis pleaded, "Just _look _at her, the next time you visit."

"Yes, yes. I'm not saying she isn't pitiable. However, it is not necessary for her to be taken into our halls. Besides, the boys... _ahem... _princes, they might object."

"Do you?" Dis spun around fiercely.

Kili was distracted, trying to work out his arrangements for sneaking out of Erebor during the night. Fili was looking at the ground. He poked Kili, who said,

"Do as you will, amad. It will be a good thing for... for..."

"Urla," filled in Fili, "Yes, uncle. Here, no one will dare attack Urla again."

Thorin's gaze darted from Fili's to Dis's face, then back to Fili's.

"Do as you will," he acceded.

_Perhaps this will be good for the lads,_ he mused.

* * *

><p>"Say, what's that, Ale?"<p>

Ale hid the wooden pendant, hung on a simple chain about her neck that had popped out as they climbed down the ladder.

"Nothing," she murmured, "Just a friendship token."

"Who from? There are few who carve runes in wood... none that I know of."

"Bifur," Ale said, and blushed, looking away.

"Ale..." Kili poked her teasingly.

"He is a friend, and so is Grof, though she does not train with us anymore," Ale stammered, "Please don't think anything of it. Bifur is... so nice to me."

"And he has every reason to be," declared Kili, "You are a gem."

It was Ale's turn to poke him, but their laughter died down when they reached the secret exit.

"Are you ready, Kili?" Ale whispered.

"Yes," he said simply, "Be safe whilst I am gone."

"I have to come down to open the gate for you tomorrow morning," reminded Ale.

"Can't you bring someone along?"

"I cannot tell my adad. He has sworn his loyalty to the king."

Kili frowned. He did not want Ale to be hurt, and there were dwarves about who would do terrible things, perhaps just for the sake of it.

"I do not want to return to see you with a knife in your side," Kili said, hesitating.

"If you want to leave, you have to leave now."

"I... I'm not going."

"Really? Because of _me_?"

"It was wrong of me," Kili said, taking Ale by the wrist and looking her in the eye, "I shouldn't do this to you. If I were to be delayed, you could be blamed. And you are just a maid."

"What could they accuse me of?"

"Kidnapping, treason, murder?"

"Balin..."

"Balin knows his law," Kili whispered fiercely. Disappointed, he set down his pack and sat on a large piece of stone. Ale came and sat by him.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, "I know you really wished to see her."

Kili shrugged,

"There has to be another way. A better way."

"Maybe there is no way."

Kili glanced at Ale. His friend spoke the truth, he knew. Perhaps she was the only one who knew.

"What am I to do, khuzush?"

"I don't know," Ale patted his hand comfortingly.

"I only dream of her in the night. I see her, in my mind. I can only think of her. It drives me mad. I am bewitched!"

"By an elf-witch," teased Ale, who straightened up, "Do not be so sad, khazash. She will not want to see you so sad."

"It'll never work," Kili pressed his hands to his face in frustration, "I keep hoping it will but deep down, I know it will not. There is no way."

All the hope and excitement had left his eyes and he felt noticeably deflated.

"There there," said Ale, "Have some tea. There is one herb I take that works wonders."

"Thorin makes me take so much tea already."

"Then ale."

"Don't want to."

"Sleep it out."

"Can't sleep."

"Train? Learn a new weapon?"

"Why not? Let's go do it now."

Kili picked up his pack and Ale followed him. She was so short next to him.

"Now?" Ale giggled, "In the middle of the night?"

"Sure, Fili and I did it all the time."

"Speaking of which..."

"Leave it, Ale. Fili and I..."

"Are soul-knitted."

"Not anymore."

Ale held her peace.

"The spear?" she suggested.

"Good," replied Kili, mumbling, "Show me some moves."

"But you have to send me home before dawn," reminded Ale.

"We will be dead and gone tomorrow, that is, if we weren't found out. If we were..."

"Her ladyship will have our heads."

"And our hides," groaned Kili, remembering the time he had sneaked into the forges in the middle of the night with Ale to attempt to make his own sword as a birthday present for himself. The only present he had gotten, of course, was a sound birching. And then a _real _sword from Uncle Thorin.

_All that wasted pain, _Kili shook his head at his childish recklessness. Glancing at Ale who was keeping up with him, he regretfully remembered getting _her _into a whole lot of trouble. _Her _foster mothers were... harsh, to put it mildly. She was always too game for adventure, and neither of them had any sense.

Kili sighed. He was older, he was a prince. He ought to keep her out of trouble, and yet he kept getting her into it. Fili, on the other hand, was always the model child. Then again, Thorin was always so much stricter with Fili, though he did little that could be faulted.

* * *

><p>Fili looked up from the dining table, glancing at the closed door at the end of the corridor.<p>

"We oughtn't make too much noise," he warned the assembled council, "Urla is in the library, reading."

They were drinking to Gimli's health, as it was his birthday. Urla had lived with the family for two weeks now, and Dis thought the change of surroundings were good. Her sons were always so nice to her.

On her first morning, Urla had sat through half a breakfast with the family in silence. Fili and Kili were more like their old selves, something they exaggerated for Dis's sake, and had make Urla smile a _little _by their silliness.

Then Urla had glanced at the silver teapot frame that Dis used to pour a cup of tea... and suddenly went pale. Her lips trembled and the cracked skin on her cheeks quivered slightly, making a ghastly sight. She grabbed a napkin with half-bandaged hands took an audible breath.

Dis followed Urla's eyes to the ornate teapot and mentally slapped herself... it had been made by Urla's father.

"I'm alright," Urla whispered bravely, "I'm..."

Thorin looked up from his bacon to see the lass bow and excuse herself on the table before hurrying to her room. He sighed... this was going to take some time.

Fili and Kili exchanged sympathetic glances.

"I think she might not want to see the teapot," Dis motioned to the servants, "And I will have to check the silverware this morning. Tell Rugre I will not be attending court today. Goodness knows... Mahal! The wall-lights."

"Made by Dori, namadith," Thorin rolled his eyes, "Unless you wish to rid our halls entirely of silver."

"Don't hide them all, amad," Fili spoke up and reached for the teapot, "She might want to see them."

"Don't be silly," Dis said angrily, as she was upset with herself. She grabbed the teapot and stalked to the kitchen.

Thorin gave him a look that said,

"Don't cross your mother."

* * *

><p>Sure enough, on that first morning, Fili found Urla in the kitchen, two hours later when the house was empty. She was like little a ghost, wandering about, pale and quiet.<p>

"Here," he said, reaching for the top cupboard that Urla could not reach, "Is this what you're looking for?"

Urla took the teapot frame gingerly from Fili.

"Thank you," she mumbled, clutched it to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut. Her red and chapped fingers moved deftly over silver frame, feeling every crevice of the diamond design that had been lovingly handed out.

Fili was awkwardly silent for a few moments, not knowing what to say.

Urla held the teapot stand up to the light and admired the way the perfectly polished silver shone, the intricate geometric designs flawless in their perfection.

Fili cleared his throat, and decided to bring up one of his ideas.

"Perhaps you'd like to come to the big royal archive with Kili and I one day. It is... very big."

"You do not look like the kind to visit libraries," Urla laughed. Her laughed was like tiny little bells, tinkling so gently that Fili had to smile.

"We could show it to you," Fili shrugged.

Urla looked about to agree, and she looked down at the teapot in her hands, but at the moment the light from the ceiling lamp reflected on the silver and she saw a glimpse of her face on it.

It was ghastly, a shade of pink. Her cheeks were disfigured, and a large portion of her left cheek had been eaten away by acid. The skin around her left eye was swollen, and out of shape. There was a huge black bruise on her forehead.

"I think... another time," Urla mumbled, and walked past Fili out of the kitchen, her shoulders quivering. Fili looked at her retreating figure, feeling terribly sad himself, and fingered the silverwork in his hands before arranging it gently back into the cupboard.

* * *

><p>Fili had told Urla beforehand that Gimli's birthday lunch was to be held in the halls. He had planned it long beforehand, and their cook would be none too happy should any changes be requested. Urla had taken the news quietly, and Fili knew she planned to retreat into her rooms, as Urla was not ready to face anybody yet as present.<p>

Then just when the guests were about to arrive, and the food piled high on the table, Urla found herself unwittingly evicted from her bedroom, as the housekeeper, a kindly but rather forceful dwarf matron, was bent on shaking out the carpets today.

She quickly darted to the library, curled up on a big, comfy chair, and began to read about the History of Moria's Healing Rooms.

A knock at the door startled her a few hours later.

"Fili said to bring you this," Kili handed her a plate piled high with meat, cheese, bread, and gravy, as well as pewter flagon of ale, "Is it enough?"

"Thank you," Urla said quietly and took the food from Kili, "it is more than enough, thank you, my prince."

"_Kili,_" he corrected her, looking at her face for the first time in the conversation. It was... rather difficult... to look Urla in the eye. Or in the face for that matter. Or even to look at her. He took a deep breath and looked away quickly. It reminded him too much of their Uncle Groin, who had sustained scars from severe dragon-burns on his face and beard.

Urla felt his discomfort and retreated to the corner of the room.

"Well, let me know if you need anything."

At the lack of reply, Kili made his exit and returned to the loud and merry party.

Fili looked up when Kili returned.

"She says its enough," he mumbled. Fili and Kili were a bit tense around each other at times.

Fili's brows furrowed. _Poor, poor, Urla. _She sat all alone in the next room while they were partying.

* * *

><p>Dori set down his music-book with a satisfied expression.<p>

"As I said, " he concluded triumphantly, "The brothers Ri do not play, we _sing._"

"And sing you do..." the Lady Dena agreed from her vantage point on the bench, "Don't you agree, Malin."

"It's breathtaking," Malin clapped eagerly, "Sing another air for us, Dori, please?"

"We must let Dori have some tea as well," Dis rejoined, "Sit down, Dori, and stop your hollering..."

"I would not call it hollering," Dena shook her head, "It was enchanting."

"And do you sing, milady?"

"It's Dena, please, cousin Dori," she smiled, "A little."

"Your modesty is a deception," Malin interrupted, "Dena sings terribly well."

"Terribly, or well?" Dis corrected Malin, joking, "It cannot be both."

They burst into laughter. It was so lovely, really, having tea and tea-cakes and music in Dori's splendid abode. He was always such a thoughtful host.

"Your protege, Lady Malin, is making my sister-by-marriage very happy indeed," Dori said of Fona, "Why, she taught her to threaten Nori with the daggers when he was late for dinner. "

"Fona is a wonderful influence on Lallek," Malin agreed, "They could be best of friends. But how is _your _little lass, Dis? Part of the family, now?"

"We are adjusting well," Dis commented, "Though Kili was a little uncomfortable at first. I would bring Urla, but she's a little hesitant to meet folk."

"Perhaps you could start with Dena, aye?" Malin suggested, "She is a healer as well."

"Not really," Dena corrected, "Just a trained attendant, is all."

Dis contemplated the idea silently, a thoughtful look on her face. When she returned to from her contemplation, the conversation had drifted.

"Speaking of which, is Dain Ironfoot recovered?" Dori asked while stirring his tea gently with a tiny spoon shorter than his little finger.

"Enough to get into an argument with poor Oin, no doubt," Dena joked.

"If Oin could hear the protests," Malin added.

They burst out laughing in the genteel dwarven way (which meant a great deal of bellowing and boo-ing).


	10. Chapter 10

AN: 10th chapter! And I'll be passing the 30,000 word mark today :). Still, I can't help covet your suggestions and reviews. If you do read the story, do tell me what is it you like reading, and if you are half-keen, do let me know what I can do to improve.

**Chapter 10**

"I'd appreciate, Balin, if you didn't bring any of this up with your sister."

Balin pulled the pipe of his mouth, concern etched on his face.

"It is a painful subject, I reckon," he agreed sadly.

"But none of her fault," Dain persisted, "I asked her to speak nothing of it, as I wished to do so myself so as to clear her name."

"...that explains why Malin never married, nor has any intention to?"

"Some of it, yes," Dain agreed.

"I cannot thank you enough for what you have done all these years," Balin hastened to say, "And none of the blame lies upon your shoulders, cousin. They were circumstances beyond any of our control."

"I see that she is happy here, and that is all that matters," Dain said, sighing as he sank into the comfortable chair, feet propped up on a stool, "And now I ask for a little favour of my own."

"An exchange," Balin smiled.

"Dena needs no taking care of," Dain said, "She is her own person, grown and more intelligent than I dare reckon. Did you know that she has learned the entirety of dwarven law? And architecture, and trade, and whatever else there is to learn. I never had the time for a proper education myself, having to learn it all on the job, so to speak... At any rate, I think Dena will be of use here in Erebor, and I hope that you may find her a position in which her talents are employed... I _had _to bring her away, Balin, or my son will never learn how to manage a mountain on his own."

Balin nodded.

"I fear my sister will languish and fade if forced to be idle," Dain sighed, "A favour for a favour?"

"We are kin," Balin stopped him, "And we will do more than necessary for each other. The Lady is more than welcome under this mountain."

"I take my leave in the morning," Dain said, "Though it will not be an unpleasant good-bye. Only Dena will worry about me, she always does. The Iron Hills grow nearer by the day, for the road is becoming well-worn once again."

He blew out his pipe,

"Beautiful place, this. Busy, full of life. Growing, growing, expanding. Not dull at all."

Scratching the itchy spot behind his ear, and burping, Dain proceeded to enjoy his last night in Erebor under the stars, smoking with Balin.

* * *

><p>Nori had some serious security issues, Fona mused as she settled down to bed. She heard the click of the pantry lock, and then a heated discussion in the living room.<p>

"I don't see why you have to lock her in the pantry, love," protested Lallek, "She's harmless."

"For her safety and ours," Nori insisted.

The next thing Fona heard was a chest of drawers being pushed in front of the pantry door.

"Fona will die of heat in there," Lallek complained.

"It is cool enough, the coolest place in the house, unlike our sweltering bedroom. If it wasn't your butter would be rancid by now."

"_Our _bedroom is hot because you have _locked _all the windows, bolted the door, and left a torch burning the entire night!"

"Sweetheart," Nori began soothingly,

"None of that, Nori."

Lallek was furious. Nori's over-protectiveness was driving her nuts.

"What if there is a fire in the pantry?"

"The walls and shelves are of steel and stone, love. And no, Fona will not suffocate because there are ventilation holes."

Lallek was crying now,

"Living with you is just like living with adad! You promised it would be different, Nori, you _promised! _I am tired of being shut up with nothing to do. I miss you, but you are gone _all _day."

Fona tried to shut out the sounds of the domestic quarrel. It was not unlike her home back in the Iron Hills, with parents shouting at each other. Except, Lallek was wailing and Nori was trying to sooth her. They were not on an equal playing field, unlike her strong-willed and iron-fisted forebears. Woe to Fona is she ever got caught in the crossfire.

Earlier that day, Lallek had shown Fona her journal and told Fona their love story. It was all a little sweet, really, if not a bit silly to Fona's unromantic mind.

Lallek's father had been very harsh, and a miser - they lived in the poorest quarters of the mountain and he never let her out to see the sun for many years. Instead, she worked in a laundry to earn money whilst he was a locksmith. Lallek was miserable in their bare and ugly home, never allowed time to spend with friends, until one night she went to the kitchen to fetch a glass of cool water... there she found a thief, raiding their pantry. They fell in love, secretly. Nori stealthily broke in to meet her night after night and soon they were secretly married. He often broke in to her rooms to just to leave expensive gifts, which he taught her how to hide in a crevice on the wall. He was never caught, but did appear one day out of the blue and asked Lallek's father for permission, which was promptly denied. That was two days before he disappeared, and Lallek discovered a note saying he was on a quest to win back a mountain running with gold, and would return in a year's time with enough gold to buy her hand publicly.

Lallek was a bit silly. She tended to exaggerate things and was like a helpless and ignorant child in many aspects, which amused Fona more than it annoyed her. Still, she was very sweet and meek, and altogether endearing. Their story proved to be a subject of much entertainment for Fona, who wished it could be written down in a poem. Fona did not have a mind for poetry, and found it frustrating to compose, though she really did try.

_There was once a miserly locksmith,_

_Whose daughter was stolen by a generous thief_

Fona growled in irritation, because she knew that didn't do justice to the story at all.

_There was once a thief,_

_A thief who did not steal gold or gems._

_Instead he left a lassie gifts,_

_And stole her heart..._

Fona rolled over on her soft bedrolls, trying to think of a word that rhymed with gems, rather unsuccessfully. Her rather unpoetic mind was more used to practical and sensible things, and soon overworked itself trying to be creative. In the end, Fona fell deep asleep, her thoughts awash with descriptive words she never thought she knew, dangling infuriatingly before her just outside of her grasp.

* * *

><p><em>The next morning, <em>

Kili assumed the house was empty, as the servants had the day off. but he had forgotten about "Urla the Lurker", as she become known as by the kindly but no-nonsense servants. He dropped whatever it was in his hands when Urla appeared behind him, her reflection in the mirror. She was looking for something in that room.

Kili tried to cover himself, but there was no use.

Urla's jaw dropped open when she caught sight of him.

"You really _do _look elvish," she said, cringing as if that was a bad thing.

"What? No!" Kili protested, quickly ruffling his hair to mess it up again. He had arranged in the elven style with some pomade just out of curiosity... and also to decide if he was "elvishly" attractive. Seeing that his ruse was not working on Urla, he begged, "Don't tell anyone, please!"

"Your secret is safe with me," Urla nodded, and grinned slightly.

"May I sketch you like that?" Urla asked after a moment, "I'll draw you with elven clothes and remove the beard."

"Well..." Kili began to object, and then saw how eager Urla was. He _did _like to fantasize sometimes about being Elvish, "Why not?"

"Hold your bow up," commanded Urla, pointing at the bow and quiver that Kili had near him, "The house should be empty for an hour. Have any plans?"

"Teaching archery to Ale," Kili mumbled, positioning his hair with a bit of a grin, "Want to come?"

Urla hesitated.

"I think not," she said quietly.

"It's alright," Kili assured her, "Whatever you want."

He wondered where his mother was at that precise moment. No doubt if she knew about their exercise, she would be furious.

* * *

><p>Dis kicked up her feet and sank them into the scalding hot herbal water. She nudged Oin, who was asleep (and snoring) next to her on the bench, to give her more room.<p>

"This is heaven," she said, and blew a smoke ring out of her long pipe.

"Indeed," agreed Malin.

"Hotter, hotter," Dori commanded the servant, "More hot water. And scrub harder."

They were sitting out on the balcony, enjoying the spring sun, smoking pipe rings and having servants scrubbing their calloused feet in hot herbal water.

"You are rather silent," Dis commented to Dena, who was gazing off in the horizon. Dis leaned forward conspiratorily, "Homesick?"

"Waiting for Dain's raven," Dena sighed, "I shall miss him."

"And how are the sights of Erebor?"

"Breathtaking," Dena breathed out. She had enjoyed every moment of touring Erebor, whether with others or on her own. She was very sharp in her senses and with a quick intellect, it did not take long for the comings-and-goings of the mountain to become second nature to her.

"And how does it compare to the Iron Hills."

"Erebor is build as thing of beauty, crafted out of the rock," Dena replied, "If this is beautiful, I cannot wait to see Moria."

Here she blinked wistfully.

"I have seen some maps Balin has in his study," Malin said, "I should like to see it."

"I should _really _like to see it," Dena said.

"I've seen enough mountains," declared Dis, "Lived in more than one settlement in my life. I shan't move an inch, except to renovate our halls. How are our plans, Dori?"

Dori looked up from his sketchbook, where he had busily drafting designs. He held up a design for a hall, but Dis pursed her lips,

"Too flat," she said, "Plain. I want it to be whimsical, on several dimensions."

Dori mused, tapping the chalk in his hands on his cheeks, smudging them,

"I think I have an idea."

"You should have been an architect, Dori," was Malin's reply.

"Studied it on my own time," Dori said, "But now with Nori's business to run for him, I've hardly got any. But Princess Dis is our biggest _cliente._"

"Stick to the designs, Dori," Dis commanded airily, "You work magic with them."

"I should be interested in seeing your sketches," Dena said, "I studied architecture myself."

"Indeed..." Dori looked up, interested,

"Built some halls in the Iron Hills, nothing of note though," Dena sighed, "We are also purely functional instead of aesthetic. My grandfather had a utilitarian bent that Dain inherited."

"So unlike King Thror," Malin added, "Who had such an eye for beauty, and profit as well."

Dis smiled, memories of her megalomaniac grandfather and his penchant for balance and symmetry in design, besides _grandeur. _

"So Nori has given up on being a merchant?" Malin asked.

"Completely," sighed Dori, "It was a fruitless effort to reform him. He remains bent on solving crime, but thanks to the King's sponsorship isn't doing too badly. I'm passing the business to Ori when he's learned enough."

"How is Pearl?" Dis asked suddenly, "I wished she came..."

"Dwalin took her to get matching skin-marks again yesterday," Malin sniggered, "They so love body art."

"Not my taste," Dis replied, "But interesting, none the less."

"Pearl is literally covering herself with them now," Malin shook her head, "Her previous husband disliked them, but Dwalin can never have enough."

"But where is Pearl now?" Dori asked, looking up from his sketchbook.

"With Ghiza," Malin nodded, "Talking baby talk."

Pearl loved to slip across the halls to Gloin's home and spent long afternoons chatting with Ghiza and admiring the new baby. They definitely had lots of discuss now, about babies and such. Malin did not usually take part in these discussions, supposedly inexperienced as she by right out to have been.

* * *

><p>Life under the mountain was slowly spiraling out of control. Thieves, troublemakers, and just plain revengeful dwarves took opportunity of the chaos to do whatever they wished, and avoid punishment. it did not take long for the murderous troublemakers to strike again.<p>

"I don't understand any of it," sighed Balin, burying his face in his heads. Thorin looked grim., having just heard what happened..

Two hours earlier, Ale stumbled into the healing rooms, two other dwarves helping to bear Kili's unconscious weight.

Ale's dress was in rags and her hair in a tussle, but Kili looked far worse. Gryel, standing about sniffing out trouble, noticed her at once.

"Daughter!" he called out and took hold of her, ignoring the prince, and scolded in concern "Is this what you do on your day off? What did I tell you about..."

Ale burst into tears, blubbering.

"We were simply going to the training fields, when in a corridor three masked dwarves attacked us."

Gryel turned pale, and he whispered, clutching Ale as if she was the most precious thing in the world to him.

"Did they... touch you?"

Ale bit her lips and shook her head wildly, gesticulating towards Kili.

"If they do _anything _to you, I will have slice off their fingers piece by piece and slit their throats... _slowly..._" Gryel growled. He caught sight of Ale nursing a bruise on her arm.

"Broken wrist, hmm?" He tsked unhappily, "TAGH! My daughter is wounded."

Kili was in far worse a state. In trying to protect Ale, he had gotten serious blows.

"They pulled his hair and beat him with clubs," Ale cried, "Pummeled him until he fainted, but Kili didn't let them get near me. There were too many of them; they were so large."

"Unbelievable," muttered Tagh, who was examining Ale's hand whilst Elekh and Meru were all over Kili trying to assess the damage, "The King will be furious."

"They said," Ale added, "When Kili told them the King would have their heads, they said that they could do anything they liked, and no one would find them."

Gryel folded his arms and sank into a chair. With so little to go on, the "Urla" case was yet unsolved. Any dwarf under the mountain could be guilty, and now this. More troublemakers.

"No more running off on your own," he told Ale, "For your own sake. Lady Malin will agree."

Ale wanted to protest, but she just nodded.

"Stick with your spearing friends," Gryel advised, putting his arm around her, "The barkeep and his kin. They are good folk. I can see it in them."

He had come to like this lass of his very much. She had spirit, she did. And she made a very good servant as well. Ale and Gryel had been cautious in their relationship, as they were new to this father-daughter dynamic. Gryel never knew he had a child, let alone a daughter, and Ale, well, she had trouble accepting the fact that she was an illegitimate offspring. Nevertheless, Gryel had come out of his shell, and she couldn't help being drawn to him because he was such a good storyteller with a real colourful past.

* * *

><p>Bofur ambled over to where Bifur was sitting quietly in the corner, contemplatively carving an intricate piece of a wooden butterfly toy.<p>

"Working your magic, I see," Bofur commented gently, and then teased, "Or thinking about a certain little lassie?"

Bifur looked up and glared and Bofur out of the corner of his eye. With one hand he made a disgruntled sign.

"You've been awful distracted lately," Bofur continued teasing, "Is it because she wants to learn the bow as well? With a certain dashing young prince?"

Bifur shook his head.

"Oh, come on," Bofur teased, "I know you don't think you're courting material, but anyone can see a handsome dwarf when they see one."

Bifur gave Bofur as sideways look.

"C'mon," urged Bofur, "I've never seen you get close to a lass before. Don't you want children of your own?"

Bifur glanced at the two tiny Bomburlings stuffing their faces with whipped cream pie across him at the table. He jerked his chin in their direction,

"Handful," was all he said.

"But such a joy," said Bofur wistfully.

"Misa will come back to you, I know it," Bifur said abruptly, before retreating back into quietness.

Bofur sighed, "I'm gonna get an ale. Want one?"

Bifur looked down at his craftwork.

"Busy," he signaled,

"Okee then," whistled Bofur, and sauntered away.

Bifur looked contemplatively down at the butterfly and wondered if he would be any good with making dolls.

* * *

><p>Fili was in the study with Gimli, studying mine production charts with Drof and her husband, the chief miner. Floi dashed in.<p>

"Fili," he said urgently, "I need help. I need to speak with you urgently _in private._"

"Come, come" Fili said as he led Floi through to another section of the royal library, "Surely I am not one to give counsel on domestic problems."

"I need help," Floi persisted miserably, "Grof has not been well. She had been moody, shouted at me once. She has kept me at an arm's length, and yesterday, I noticed she was bleeding and asked her to see a healer. She become angry and called me an idiot."

"An injury...?" Fili stared at Floi.

"No... she was bleeding..." Floi couldn't finish his sentence because it was rather uncomfortable to explain, so instead he coughed suggestively.

Fili looked confused,

"Surely your amad will understand what's happening."

"Amad slapped me and said she was ashamed of my impertinence," Floi complained. He looked terribly bewildered and grasped Fili's hand, "I don't know what's going on. Is Grof with child?"

"This is a feminine problem," Fili crossed his arms and leaned against a bookcase, closing his eyes and thanking Mahal he wasn't married, "You're so intelligent Floi, why don't you read a book on female health? And no, I've never heard of pregnant 'dams bleeding. Vomiting, fainting, growing fat, yes, but not bleeding."

Fili turned to the bookshelf around him and searched for something. He didn't know what to look for, just anything remotely related to feminine health.

"Ah here," he picked up a very dusty, very old tome, "Try this one."

Floi brushed some dust away and read the runes on the cover. He paled.

"I'm not sure if its very updated," Floi choked, his eyes widened in fear.

"Unless you want to ask Oin about it?" Fili suggested.

"No, no, " Floi took the book as if it were a bitter pill he must swallow, or a dreadful orc he must face in battle, "I will read it. Thank you, Fili."

"Save your thanks," Fili said, trying to hide a laugh, "I'm not sure I'm even helping. Wait till Gimli hears of this..."

"No! Please!" Floi begged, cheeks turning red, "You're my friend, Fili. I don't know who else to ask who won't laugh at my predicament."

Fili laughed heartily, some dust on the bookshelves displacing and landing on his shoulders,

"Good luck, Floi," he snorted and walked away.

* * *

><p>Dis laid out the black, red, and blue dresses on Urla's bed.<p>

"Counsil Pearl was such a dear to have these altered for you," Dis commented, "Such pretty, pretty dresses, aren't they, Urla?"

The black dress was not dull at all, but terribly intricate and _expensive. _Urla had never even thought about wearing something like this before... she had always just _lived _in leather work-aprons and tunics.

"There are lovely," breathed Urla.

In the last two weeks, she had come a little out of the timid shell. Urla had a naturally bubbly personality that had become quite deflated by recent, tumultous events, not in the least the revelation that the prime suspect, Kru the father of Fona, had nothing to do with the series of crimes that destroyed her life. He had only been responsible for a solo plot to kill or at least immobilize Dain Ironfoot with various kinds of poisons. Of course, Balin had arranged for him to be extradited to the Iron Hills to be tried and sentenced.

Urla didn't know who caused the acid explosion that disfigured a large portion of her body, or killed her parents. She didn't know _why _they would do such a thing. However, she bravely decided to move on.

"Come, dear," Dis urged, "Pick one to try on. You can wear it to dinner tonite with the family."

"The family" could mean a number of things, Urla knew, anything from small royal family to including a host of noble cousins and honoured Quest members (and _their _kin). Tonight, however, it just meant the King, Dis, and her two sons, which was quite enough. Urla had been quite overwhelmed by Dis's expansive and expensive wardrobe, so Dis sought to remedy the situation and cheer Urla up with new clothes.

"The black one?"

It was a question, but Dis was already helping Urla out of her sweet red day-dress.

"Wait," commanded Dis, "Let me fix your bust-strings. You have such a lovely figure, Urla, you should accentuate it more."

The black dress had soft, shimmery sleeves, long but see-through. They covered the scars on Urla's forearms perfectly.

"Thank you," said Urla, and held her breath whilst Dis attended to her. Dis had always wanted a daughter, or, more likely, a life-sized doll to dress up and take to parties. Either way, she seemed to be enjoying herself.

"I do not necessarily like black as a colour for a lass," Dis commented, "But it suits you. Now, let's take a look. Oh, yes - it really suits you."

Of course, Urla submitted to Dis's fussing as she tugged at the dress and took a great deal of time to figure out which pins, laces, ribbons, shoes, chains, and gems went best with the black dress.

"Kili must be back," Dis heard the large door outside creak open, "Let's see what he thinks."

"Kili! Come and Urla's new..." Dis poked her head out of the door, stopping short when she saw Kili's face...

"It's nothing, amad, just a weapons training," Kili said quickly, "May I be excused from supper tonight?"

"I will have Dwalin's _head..." _began Dis.

"It's not Dwalin, he can't train because Pearl says it makes him stink," Kili mumbled and sauntered to his room, "And yes, I've seen a healer."

"Well!" Dis exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips, "If that isn't a state of things. He'd better get some rest."

* * *

><p>"No."<p>

"Please," begged Lallek at lunchtime, "Our gardens are so safe. You never let me leave the house, and I am itching to be outdoors in the spring."

"If I weren't so busy protecting you from the murderers about this mountain," Nori growled, "I would bring you to the lake outside."

"I have lived here for two years and never seen it," Lallek complained, pouting. She _hated _to be cooped up in the springtime. She blinked her large, sad, brown eyes at Nori and pleaded sadly.

"Fine," Nori said, glancing at Fona, "But ensure that it is safe."

Lallek smiled a little triumphant smile. Fona's brow lifted, and she understand it was _her _duty to make sure Lallek and Dhori were all right.

"What could go wrong, Nori?" Lallek rubbed his arm to comfort him, "What could possibly happen?"

Nori planted a small kiss on her cheek.

_You don't want to know, _he thought sadly, _You don't want to have seen half the things I have seen. _Caressing her hair and ruffling it much to Lallek's mild irritation, he basked in the sweet naivete that characterized her. _Innocence _- Nori had never known what it was like to be innocent _or _protected as a child. He had grown up away from his brothers, cared for by an unwilling and negligent grandfather (who happened to own a public house). From a young age, he had seen things no child should ever see, or many grown-ups ever would.


	11. Chapter 11

AN: Yes, I have come to realize that this is basically a period drama set in Middle Earth, in the halls of Erebor. So, if that's what you're into, I hope you'll enjoy this! Period dramas tend to be very female-centric. I'm going for a more upstairs-downstairs/Downton Abbey feel to this, though they aren't my favourite costume dramas. Maybe a bit of Tess of D'Urbervilles/Pride and Prejudice/Death Comes to Pemberley/Agatha Christie's Poirot thrown in for good measure?

By the way... Floi and Frar are canon characters. I have a (hopefully) neat storyline planned for them and they become increasingly important as time goes by *hint hint*. I find that readers probably enjoy fluffy chapters more, so I try to include fluffy scenes even in the midst of a dark storyline.

Chapter 11

Floi heard his wife's footsteps and quickly shoved the book he was reading bitterly under a pile of clothes. Ordinarily, he would have grinned and smiled in his silly way at the thought of Grof, daughter of Bombur as being referred to _his _wife, and ran to greet her, but the hurt feelings in his chest kept him firmly rooted to the chair.

Grof came ambling in as if nothing had happened. She was whistling, being a good singer like her uncle Bofur, and came in with a sack full of food supplies.

"Had a good day?" she asked casually.

"Mm hm..." Floi mumbled, unable to hide his frustration.

"Anything wrong?" she glanced up.

"Actually yes."

"I am _not _going to shine your shoes for you, Floi. I am not your mother, and I hate shining leather shoes."

Floi looked hurt,

"I never asked you to," he said.

Grof looked up.

Floi was not a female, he didn't know how to dart around a problem and hint.

"I know what you're doing," he said, spilling the beans, "I just don't know why you didn't tell me about it. Don't I deserve to know? Am I so cruel a husband as to force you to keep secrets? I..."

Grof put down the cup of tea she was drinking, a guilty feeling tugging at her heart. She _thought _she knew what Floi was getting at. She had been meaning to bring it up, but the words had always escaped her. In fact, neither of them were really much for words in the time they spent together.

"We're meant to _share _our lives," persisted Floi, "Share our opinions, decisions... everything. If you don't want to have children yet, you ought to have told me."

"You said... you wanted children," Grof faltered, "I didn't know how to tell you... I don't want to be like _amad_, with an endless houseful of chores and children... I have a craft, work that I love doing and I'm not ready to give it up. And then there's the council. I didn't know if our marriage could take... anything new yet..."

"We'll work it out together," gasped Floi, exasperated, "We will. It is far more important to me that you and I are happy together, that we know each other's hearts and minds, our hopes and dreams, our plans... I don't want to be kept in the dark, Grof. I wish we could talk about it."

Grof sat down and looked at her cup.

"How did you know? Did your_ amad_ tell you?"

"No," Floi said, his turn to be uncomfortable, "I read a book."

"What kind of book?"

"A health book," Floi said defensively.

"Oh," Grof realized, and paused, "What it the... well... last week?"

"Aye," grumbled Floi, looking down at his feet.

"I should have explained things more to you. I thought, such a brilliant dwarf as you would know."

"I never had a sister! I don't know these things!"

"Alright then," Grof took his hand and squeezed it, and reached to kiss his cheeks sweetly, "May we begin anew?"

"No more secrets?" pleaded Floi.

"No more," agreed Grof, "At least not ones you deserve to know."

"Trust me," Floi whispered closed against her ear, "Trust me to know that I love you and want you to be happy, more than I want anything else under Mahal's mountain."

"Mmm..." Grof withdrew her lips to mumble, "Of course I do. I just need time."

"Do you know," Floi hummed into her ear, brushing the wisps of beard on Grof's cheek with one hand, "That I learned more than one things from that... health book?"

Floi had intended to do some talking, but they ended up not doing very much of it that night.

* * *

><p>Fili glanced between his brother and Urla who were whispering about something at the breakfast table. Thorin had left early for the day, leaving Dis and boys to their own company, which meant that the meal was noisier and less grim. Urla was scared to death of the king, and he knew that if he so much as frowned in her general direction, Urla would have a heart attack. Poor Thorin felt at a disadvantage being the rather imposing and commanding figurehead that he was, so he left the house to Dis and her way of things. He was used to people's cowering.<p>

Dis passed a plateful of smoked ham to Fili, while Kili rubbed the short beard around his face and gave Urla a sideways look, which made her giggle out loud. They were thinking of Urla's very realistic sketch of "Elf Kili" that was presently hidden in an extremely dull and dusty book in the private library for their private amusement.

Fili felt... jealous. Kili used to confide in him, but they had drifted apart in recent months because Fili could not tolerate the changes in Kili that came after the Quest, particularly his obsession with _that elf. _Fili was busy, too busy to play childish games and partake in pointless, reckless and dangerous schemes - he had a kingdom to learn to rule, and many responsibilities, responsibilities Kili continued to be excused from. Fili felt at a loss without Kili at his side, but still, Floi, Gimli, Ori and rest were a great help.

Now Kili found another co-conspirator. Ale had (rightfully) avoided him since they were attacked, preferring to keep company with her father Gryel who had recently had a heart attack.

Fili felt a little jealous at the connection Kili had made with Urla in such a short time. He hadn't been able to coax her into doing _anything, _or even make her smile or speak much. She seemed very cautious and afraid him, but not so around Kili. Perhaps that was because Kili had an air of childish recklessness about him, when he wasn't on a bout of depression, but Fili had grown to be more stoic, reserved and thoughtful. Either way, Fili found Urla very pleasant indeed, but very difficult to get to know.

Despite being red-eyed half the time, Urla appeared to Fili very attractive indeed. He had had to focus very hard at mealtimes to keep his eyes off her lovely person, the way her eyes lit up when she saw bacon was being served or thought of a joke. Urla had glorious red hair and was dashing in anything Dis dressed her in. She had a lovely supple figure and a very sweet way about her... all in all, by Fili's reckoning, very attractive.

_Too soon,_ Fili told himself regretfully. Urla was still suffering inside and didn't need anything to make her life more complicated. Still, he sneaked glances every time he thought nobody else was looking. He wanted to do nice things for her; maybe she would like him? That was unlikely, as he had heard she had a former follower, some lad from somewhere she was no doubt still pining for.

_Where is he? _Fili growled protectively. _Why isn't he here for her?_

Urla was very brilliant, a great artist, and useful for just about _anything. _Urla found herself busy and busier, which was good. It woiuld take a _long _time for her to heal physically and emotionally, but Dis felt that with each day, progress was made. If Dis wanted a hair-dye, she didn't have to order one because Urla could make one up for her. Urla knew what minerals to buy, where to source for face-paints and creams. Urla could make up a quick salve for any ailment, though she knew nothing of treating patients. She could help the housekeeper mix up cleaning supplies.

Just yesterday, Urla had shown the servants how to use last winter's hardwood ashes to leach a caustic lye, from which soap could be made. She knew all about different metals and their uses, was just a very useful "fact-book" to have on hand, as, being an chemist, she was used to filling all manner of customer orders.

"All these recipes," Dis suggested to her, "Should be written into a manual."

Urla wrinkled her brow in thought,

"There isn't one in existence," she pointed out, "We learned the recipes by heart from the Masters."

"Yes, but they could be penned down and organized so that we have a reference to refer to," Dis said, "Speak to Ori and Grof, they know all about books. They could help you get started. It would be a good project and I am _sure _books like those would be in high demand."

"The Masters said that our trade secrets are... trade secrets," Urla contemplated.

"You are not in their employ," Dis said, "And you are fully trained. What can they do? They might find such a tome useful."

"It is true... and I do not want to return to work," Urla sighed, "Perhaps becoming an author would allow me to use my skills in lieu of a position."

In Urla's absence, the apothecary had been rebuilt, and new apprentices had taken her place in the rather dangerous workplace.

Dis had thought up the idea to take Urla's mind off that afternoon's visit - they would be returning to her former home to pack up everything and decide what was to be done with all her parents' possessions.

"I'll come with you, dearie," Dis said when the , "And then tomorrow we will go through everything together, and the servants will help clean and pack the things, and bring them here to one of our spare rooms for you to go through them slowly. No need to hurry, is there?"

It was just as well Dis did not attend that day's council meeting. If she had, she would have some very choice words to say. As it was, when she heard the report from Malin (who did attend), she swore under her breath.

* * *

><p>Thorin was raging. He was furious, and the piercing gold-sickness-related headache did not do anything to ease his Usually he controlled himself a bit better, but today the council, especially Nori, was at the receiving end of his wrath. Patience was not one of the king's strong points.<p>

"This cannot go on," Thorin slammed his hand on the table, "I will not have crime after crime go unpunished under _my _mountain. Someone, somewhere will have to be punished whether we can find the perpetrators or not."

Nori stood before him. He was calm. His exterior was cold, hard even, but his mind was quickly calculating the next move.

"We don't need to be harsh, Thorin," Balin said soothingly but firmly.

"There will have to be _some _harshness! Do not tell me how to run my own kingdom, son of Fundin. You are as good as saboteurs, all of you! Content to lean back and let the grass grow under our feet..."

Dwalin looked grim. The king was in one of his... moods... today. No doubt working off some frustration... he would no doubt calm down and apologize to the council sooner than later...

"Thorin," began Dwalin with a note of warning in his voice, "We are doing all we can."

"But we have realized by now that that is not enough," Nori added, "And thus a new approach will be taken."

"How can you _sit _there and remain in that stuporous calm..." growled Thorin, "Will you not listen to me! I did not retake this mountain for it to become a den of thieves and refuge for murderers. I give you _twenty-four hours, _Nori. If you do not find the culprit the _most likely guilty_ ironsmith will find a noose about her neck."

This time it was Nori's turn to explode.

"I would not have followed you, _king, _if I had known you would use your power to slay the innocent and hang the women and children we gave our lives to protect," Nori growled fiercely, his every word edged with sharpened spears. He was dead serious and the room was immediately more tensed, if that was possible.

Tears formed in Nori's eyes.

"I will protect Fona," he declared, "Even if means I turn my back on you, Thorin Oakenshield. She is my kin now and my wife as adopted her as sister. I will defend her as _blood._"

"You claim to protect your family by taking a murderess in," Thorin sneered.

"I do what I believe is just and right. I will not condemn an innocent soul unless guilt can be proven."

"So speaks a thief."

"So speaks a **_madman!_" **Nori exclaimed, then calmed himself to loudly whisper,

"Over my dead body, Thorin Oakenshield," before storming away from the room and slamming the door.

Everyone sat in stunned silence.

"Have _any _of you anything to say, say it now!" roared Thorin, "If not, _leave and do something useful._"

Ori, Malin, Frar, Floi, even Gloin and Gimli skulked out of the room silently. Dwalin and Balin remained, whilst Fili paused at the door.

"Thorin..." began Balin after a pause.

"It has nothing to do with gold-sickness," Thorin said in a calmer, more broken voice, "Every day I look upon the tragedy that is the 'dam whose disfigurement and bereavement is unexplainable. I look upon Kili, a prince of the mountain, beaten senseless by thugs for no apparent reason. I hear of dwarves being robbed, children mistreated, goods _stolen, _priceless structures built by my grandfather damaged, looter ransacking our treasure hoards... I will not see this happen in the kingdom we fought to reclaim, Balin, _never! Over my dead body._"

"That's been said more than once, Thorin," Dwalin reminded him, "And Nori is doing every thing he can. He has a wife, and a young one. They hardly see the light of day, thanks to the fact none of us can walk alone with his weapons. We are few, the other settlers many. They each have their own interests to look out for. The mountain is large and for the most part empty. It is extremely difficult to maintain peace and safety. Surely you understand that."

Balin and Dwalin walked silently past Fili out of the door.

Thorin leaned down on the table, sitting and sighing deeply as if in physical pain.

"Uncle, " began Fili stoutly, "We will restore order to this mountain, I promise."

"It all rests on my shoulders, Fili, mine alone," grumbled Thorin, "But I see no solution."

There were tears in Fili's eyes. Before turning and leaving, he proclaimed fiercely,

"I will try, uncle. I will not disappoint you again."

Thorin stared confusedly, wondering what the prince meant. Surely he did not think himself a disappointment? Now that the wave of anger had passed, Thorin realized he had quite some apologizing to do... especially to Nori who seemed to have taken things rather hard. Instead of fire, he now felt cold, dead cold and empty inside.

* * *

><p>"Are you all right, Malin?" Balin squeezed her hand when he found her at home, rocking and knitting quietly.<p>

"I..." Malin's voice shook, "I... never have seen the king so angry."

"Thorin has a temper, I'll admit," Balin nodded, "But only because he has fought so hard and cares so deeply. His heart has been broken in more ways than one, and he has had a hard life. So have we all..."

He added this last sentence and patted Malin on the shoulder.

Malin looked up at Balin who was now awkwardly trying to be tender and sweet with gestures alien to him.

"So what now?" she asked.

"The crimes?" Balin shook his head, "We need more armed men, more guards. But in so short a time..."

"Dena," Malin said brightly, "We should ask her. She helped Dain regain strength after a coup and betrayal some twenty years back."

That seemed to ring a bell in Balin's head, something Dain had told him about...

"I will seek her out for counsel, perhaps," Balin agreed, "It is always wise to spread one's nets wide, not knowing what one may catch."

He patted Malin affectionately if not clumsily (and a little roughly, it has to be admitted), and went about his way once again.

* * *

><p>Dena screwed up her forehead in thought.<p>

"Chaos?" she commented, "I have noticed the... security... under this mountain is not as I am accustomed to, but no doubt is peculiar to states that are in the process of being rebuilt."

"No need for diplomacy," Balin said quickly.

"I do wonder how King Thror kept it together in exile," Dena remarked.

Balin thought for a moment.

"_Ah,_" he said, "I do not recall precisely, but no doubt there is some enlightment to be found there. But it was Thror, not Thrain."

"As you say," Dena acquiesced, and bowed. She would not admit to knowing that Thror was immobilized during his last years. That would be... disrespectful to her former King.

"And Thorin as well," mused Balin.

"There is a murderer loose in this mountain?" Dena asked.

"We cannot be sure he has left," explained Balin, "We do not know who he is, only that he or she is not Gru the father of Fona, and that he or she had some motive in implicating Fona daughter of Gru."

"I see..." Dena paused, "And Nori son of.. son of... this Nori is leading the investigations?"

"Yes. He, and Gryel the barrel-maker were formerly... familiar with the workings of the underworld."

"So you use thieves to catch thieves."

"Aye."

"But these are murderers?" asked Dena.

Balin looked up at her.

"What do you suggest..."

"Nothing," Dena quickly said, "It is not my place to say. But I do know this Gru, the one who tried to murder by brother with poison. He was unwise to think, alchemist or not, that it would be easy... his brother was one of our generals, and I remember his face. His daughter I am not acquainted with. I presume Dain has bound him in iron shackles and is hauling him back to the Iron Hills to be served justice as we speak."

"Yes," Balin said, "His crimes were not against Erebor or committed in Erebor, for the most part. Dain thought it best..."

Their discussion lingered, and Balin felt it was not an unprofitable one.

* * *

><p>"That will work," marvelled Dwalin, "Let us propose it to the king as once."<p>

"Nori is only a thief," elaborated Balin, "He may be useful for hunting down perpetrators of petty crimes, but when it comes to understanding the mind of a killer..."

"Only a killer would suffice," Dwalin agreed.

They both knew being a killer was more than being one who had shed blood. Dwarves rarely committed murder under the cover of darkness - that was a despised act of cowardice. Perhaps a spar to the death, a blatant, outright, dealing out of revenge or even a fatal drunken brawl was a characteristic flaw in dwarven society, but stabs-in-the-dark were not. For hunting an assassin... they needed an assassin.

* * *

><p>"Thorin," Balin sad, "We must send word to Dain at once. Prevail upon him to "<p>

"This is a dangerous idea... Dain would never agree!" Gloin spoke for Thorin.

Thorin nodded.

"Not if the person who suggested it may sway his mind," Dwalin rumbled.

"Who... who would... " Gloin asked in confusion, then lifted his eyebrows, "Oh."

"Hmm?" Thorin felt he was missing some piece of the puzzle.

"It's a wild guess, Thorin, but you wanted a new strategy. So there you have it."

"Very well," Thorin waved his hand, "Do what you must. I give you a free hand in this, Balin."

* * *

><p>Lallek was more than annoyed. She was absolutely pissed off. This <em>just <em>had to happen

"Nothing but a small rock-slide," she kept repeating to herself, "It's nothing."

It started out as some crumbling of topsoil, before some pebbles followed. Lallek simply thought it was raining again... until some rocks fell. Fona had dashed to pull Dhori away and reach for Lallek, but it was too late. Several stones mixed with gravel had started descending down the face of the mountain, slightly damp from being dislodged by spring rains. Lallek had screamed and grabbed Fona, who protectively shielded Lallek's tiny frame under her own broad shoulders and pulled them to safety.

One silly little pebble left a tell-tale mark on Lallek's otherwise flawless forehead... Nori would be furious. Now, he wouldn't even let her out to their own gardens. He would ask Fona do all the marketing to spare Lallek any slightest injury... Lallek gritted her teeth in annoyance.

Just then, a knock on the door sounded and both Fona and Lallek froze in dread. Dhori, obliviously, ran to the door to see who it was.

"Well, well," came Dori's voice as he unlocked the door using his own key, "What have we here? A rock slide?"

"Brother, what are we going to do when Nori comes home?" Lallek groaned.

Dori stepped outside.

"Happened over at my place," he said nonchalantly, "Nothing to worry about. Just have to build an overhang to shade us a little."

"I wanted the sunlight," explained Lallek, following him out.

"No worries," Dori squinted as he gazed up at the mountain's side, "I'll look into it for you. No point cleaning it up now, there might be more."

"I so wanted to spend time outdoors," Lallek explained. She liked talking to Dori as he was always a ready ear, and very understanding.

"I see," Dori paused, "Nori has been very busy, has he? Perhaps he'll let us all go on an excusion without him tomorrow. Ori's been cooped up indoors too longs, he needs break. How about a picnic by the lake, eh?"

Dori was carrying the Little One, who squealed in anticipation at Dori's excited tone.

"Yes, Dhori agrees," Lallek smiled.

"Nori's been a little stressed," Dori explained, "Today was a bad day for him."

Lallek glanced inside at Fona, who was sweeping the floor surreptiously.

"The thing is," she looked down, "Nori's been driving me nuts. I'm not allowed to go _anywhere._"

Dori had to smile. Nori had always complained about Ori being overprotected by Dori.

"So, so, nadadith," he chuckled to himself, "The apple does not fall far from the tree."

"We're family," Dori declared after a pause, "We do things together. Ori will be so pleased."

He tickled his little nephew, who started to tug on his silver beard-case and let Lallek go inside to have some time to herself.

* * *

><p>The evening sun was setting, but a rider set off from Erebor at breakneck speed. Dwalin was a fast rider, one of the fastest. So of course he bore the messages, one with the seal of the Lady Dena and one a hastily scribbled note from Balin. He rode with stopping until the next evening, when at last the company of Dain was sighted as they were almost<p>

"Hmm..." Dain said when Dwalin overtook his company in a hurry, not even bothering to disembark from the pony, insteading halting and approaching Dain directly, "What is the meaning of this?"

"We are in need," Dwalin panted, "Of a favour."

* * *

><p>Night fell. No Nori.<p>

Thorin was looking for him, to apologize.

Lallek was waiting for him, for dinner.

Gryel was waiting for him, for his supply of contraband pipeweed.

Still nothing.

No one had heard or seen Nori for hours.

Lallek was panicking.

Dori was panicking.

Where was Nori?

Dori buried his face in his hands,

"Nadadith, you cannot play hide-and-seek any more."

Nori was always the best at hide and seek, ever elusive. He could hide in places no one knew, or even in plain sight. He was even better at hiding in plain sight. He would disappear for weeks, up to some sort of work or mischief, Dori could not imagine. Dori used to worry, he couldn't will himself to stop worrying.

Then Nori had settled down in Erebor with a business of his own and position with the king as well as a wife and child. Disappearing acts were childish games.

Lallek was worried, though she tried not to show it. She tried to put the baby to sleep, and was fed some herbs to help her sleep as well. Dori, Ori and Fona sat up, with the weapons, waiting for news. There was no one to lock Fona in the pantry tonight.

Thorin had sent guards early in the night to track him but they returned to their beds, tired after a fruitless search - Nori was a tracker, and he could not be tracked.

Dawn came, still no Nori.

Not knowing was worse than anything else.


	12. Chapter 12

AN: I love writing about flawed characters. Nori, for example, has security issues and unresolved childhood issues. Dena, for example, has unresolved gender identity disorder issues, a penchant for megalomania, and sociopathic tendencies. Dis had a slight leaning towards narcissistic personality disorder. Malin is a slow-learner with post-traumatic stress disorder and a resultant narcotic dependency. Pearl is a little OCD. But they are all functioning, its just that they aren't perfect._  
><em>

All my characters are dysfunctional because of whatever Middle-Earth power decided to give dwarves seriously messed up and miserable lives. So if that disturbs you, this story might not be the best for you.

This fic is meant to be life-like, in that there are storylines for multiple characters, but there isn't really a beginning or an end but a progression of stories, some happy, some sad. Each chapter will have a development for some of the characters, some have more, some have less. The pacing is... something I need to work on. I don't really have a "central' character around whom the entire story revolves but I have a "magnet" character, that is, Malin Fundinul.

Chapter 12

Gru's cheeks burned with shame as he was tied up and bound to a guard, to be carried back to the Iron Hills as a convicted fugitive. He had admitted to poisoning Dain, in defiance, but that soon faded as he looked into his lordship's eyes.

Dain had not appeared angry. A few days ago in Erebor, he requested to speak with Gru in person, and was brought down to the prison cells.

"My friend," Dain began, and paused, "Why?"

There was silence as Gru refused to look up to Dain.

"Is it because of Gur?"

Gru hesitantly nodded. His brother, the general in Dain Ironfoot's army... dead.

Dain sighed. It was a long and painful sigh.

"Without Gur, I am at a loss," Dain said symphathetically, looking away and grasping at the Ereborian prison bars between them, "He was my right-hand man. My general, never a more loyal, faithful dwarf warrior there was."

_Faithful_. Gru remembered, of course he did.

"He was my twin," Gru explained hoarsely and bitterly, "Without him, part of me is gone. Gone!"

"He would have protected me," Dain said, "Do you know what I thought of, when I nearly died on the roads? I thought of Gur. I thought of how I need his help. I wondered what his advice, his commands would have been."

Gru was silent, but his thoughts cleared for a moment.

"When I was poisoned once before, when the Iron Hills were on the throes of rebellion, Gur stood fast to me."

Dain choked,

"His memory is precious and pure."

He leaned his head down on the bars,

"Mahal forgive me if I caused his death, but he chose to go into Battle willingly. He died for the glory of Durin's Folk, for the kingdom of our king. Your brother advised me to join forces with Thorin Oakenshield and defeat the goblin armies... I think you knew that."

Gru was still silent.

Dain turned to leave but hesitated.

"These bars," he said slowly, "Not one week away they held an ironsmith named Fona Fire-Axe."

"My Fona," mumbled Gru.

"Your daughter," Dain repeated, "For the crime of murder. I do not know what has become of her, but I do know what can become of you. They believe you have knowledge regarding some stabbings under this mountain, but that you are not guilty. You have information. You may choose to divulge your information and remain in Erebor, or return to the Iron Hills and be tried for the crime of poisoning me."

"I will not stay in this filthy place." Gru's distaste for Erebor hung upon every word.

"Then so be it."

Now Gru was shackled, accompanied on pony by several guards surrounding him - there was no way to escape. He was far from Dain,and did not know where they were going. He did not know when a lone rider approached them, and when he saw Dwalin he did not recognize him.

Dwalin steeled himself to approach Gru, to make one last appeal for his aid.

* * *

><p>Two days had passed, but Nori had yet to make his appearance. He <em>did <em>however, somehow manage to leave Lallek a letter in her closet, with a simple message.

_Gone for awhile. Will be home in due time. Love, Nori.  
><em>

Lallek crushed the note furiously upon reading it, but eventually showed it to Dori, Ori and Fona so that they could cease worrying.

"Whatever Nori is doing," Dori assured her, "He knows where he is and does not want us to find him."

Gryel already knew this, for he had woken up one morning to find a stash of pipeweed _under his pillow. _

_How did that... how did... _Gryel growled in annoyance. He did not like to be bamboozled. Still, that meant there was nothing to worry about. Gryel could put his mind to other things.

He had begun to carve a simple blackstone emblem for Ale. On it was to be engraved and filled with white silver, "Ayel daughter of Gryel". Gryel made this during the day as he puzzled over the Big Questions of life.

Firstly, Gryel was seriously ill. The problem was simply old age - weakness of the limbs, tiredness of the heart, congestion of breath in the lungs, a poor resistance to disease and so forth. He had months left to live, if all went well.

A year ago Gryel would have died old and alone in a town of unfriendly men. No one would remember him - he had no attachments. Now he had a daughter, he had somebody to love and care for and think about. That was Gryel's second problem.

Ale had been alone for so long, he couldn't bear to leave her all alone in the world again. She had friends, and her employers were amazingly good-hearted folk, but they weren't kin. Ale needed a family to belong to, that would guard her as their own. She needed counsel, she needed a mother and a father... she needed guidance, advice... that could not come from that rascal of a prince or his uppity family, in Gryel's opinion. Ale needed to be kept safe and out of trouble, but more than that, she needed a reason to live.

Before Ale, Gryel had no reason to keep on living.

Now he did. And his third problem was what he would leave to her. Gryel was virtually penniless, and he had a bad reputation. Balin had settled his debts, yes, and made repayment for his crimes. But Gryel couldn't leave it at that. Gryel did not want to leave his daughter indebted to the sons of Fundin and the goodwill of the King of Erebor. No, Gryel wanted to leave his daughter with self-respect and pride, the least she could deserve.

He made up in his mind that he would somehow earn a name for himself in Erebor, with what time he had left. Gryel would do something heroic, sacrificial, and be someone his daughter could look up to.

Just that morning, Bifur had paid a visit to the infirmary. He did so with some regularity. Gryel watched from afar, knowing that from Ale's unmistalbe descriptions this was indeed the dwarf she had been training under. Oin would take Bifur and give him a sound examination, clean whatever wounds there were, and send him on their way.

From what Gryel heard of Bifur, he was impressed. So much better than that scoundrel of a prince, that no-good reckless troublemaker. He would have a lot of choice words to say should Ale choos_e _to court _him. _He was even doubtful if they should be friends... but who was he to say?

Still, Gryel liked Bifur. He was a toymaker, and came from a respectable, honourable dwarf family of simple working-class miners and cooks (Gryel had a long-standing mistrust of blue-bloods). They owned a decent dwarvish drinking-house. Bifur was a fine warrior, and he wasn't too old - he looked older than he was. He was very lovable, in fact, and Gryel knew from secretly reading Oin's notes that Bifur was not mentally retarded, but rather linguistically challenged from the obvious battle-injury. He was someone who would love and cherish Ale, protect her and be a mmoral compass for her. Gryel had observed Ale's spearing lesson from afar, and noticed the friendship-pendant Bifur had made her... he hoped fervently that it would become so much more than friendship...

All this Gryel thought of in bed, whilst messing the sheets whittling some keepsakes for Ale.

It made him very sad that when Ale spoke to him, she had closed off the idea of marriage altogether. She was convinced that no one would want an outcast like her, that decent employment was all she could expect from life. Gryel knew it was because of _him _that Ale had a sense of inferiority... he would do all he could to remedy that.

* * *

><p>Pearl rubbed her belly with a satisfied expression, ridiculously pleased as always that she was carrying <em>Dwalin's <em>baby. She sank into the soft, furry bed that consisted of the carcasses of roughly twelve species of animals, clad in nothing but a dressing-gown. She liked that dressing gown, it was soft, and loose and could be adjusted to fit her, maternity or not. Of course she had made it herself.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and Meru had just left after examining her. Everything was going incredibly well. Pearl felt the changes in the body, so familiar... she was never one for morning-sickness or for upset stomachs... but water retention and swelling feet was something she had always dealt with. Pearl was relaxed, being as experienced as she was. Yet, she was eager to revel in every moment, every experience. She instinctly savoured each sensation as if it was too good to be true, as if it were all a dream that would too quickly come to an end.

For Pearl and Dwalin, birth control had not been a consideration... they were eager to make up for last time. Iga had tried to talk her into waiting a year, but unlike Bombur's wife, Pearl was no regrets about putting her occupation aside. Iga was a workaholic, living to work; Pearl had worked to live. Due to Iga's mixed halfling ancestry, she had been completely resistant to any form of birth control whatsoever. No doubt poor Iga was with child already, despite having only given birth recently.

Pearl thought of all this in bed. She tired more quickly than usual. She found her temper had a greater variation, and certainly the "homing instinct" was there. She had taken great care of her health, and being with Dwalin meant quite a lot of exercise indeed. He had encouraged her to take up weaponry again, and they had walked great distances together in their short courtship. This all contributed to Pearl feeling much better about herself than with her last pregnancy.

It had been a harsh, cold winter in the Blue Mountains. They had had little food, and were recovering from the yearly bouts of aching fever that was too common. It was not fatal, but debilitating. Pearl at that time had been overworked, underfed, and very unhappy. The child was born weak, and died the following spring. It was so many years ago, and circumstances had changed so much, that when Pearl thought back she did not feel any pain or bitterness. She only felt happy at how far she had come.

She tried to think happy thoughts, to sing to the babe and keep herself in good spirits. She wished and longed and worked towards a healthy pregnancy, a safe (and hopefully short) labour, and a strong baby who would grow up just like his father. Was that too much to ask?

Soon, Pearl was fast asleep. She found herself taking time off the in afternoons to sleep, more often than not.

* * *

><p>Urla was Dis's special 'project'. It was good, everyone else secretly thought, for Dis to be preoccupied with something. Sorting through her family possession was very, very, difficult for Urla and she felt emotionally exhausted at the end of each day. It was simply too much to think of and do all at once.<p>

Dis watched Urla like a hawk, never leaving her side. It was just as well Urla found her comforting, for if not, she would have felt strangled by Dis's imposing and oppressive presence. Dis was well familiar with bereavement, and somehow, Urla's tragedy brought out the best in her, the best others, even those closest to her, always struggled to see.

Now was not the time for Urla to plan the future. She was trying to reconcile herself with the present reality whilst making sense of the past. This process would be a lengthy one, but Dis was in the long haul.

* * *

><p>"There is not a face I do not forget," Dena commented. She set down her pipe and tapped out the spent ashes with careful precision, "Of course I remember you."<p>

It was difficult, being an exceptionally intuitive dwarf with photographic memory... and be female. Dena was conditioned to be as female as any other, but a lifelong discontent plagued her. If she was male, she would have been a great dwarf-lord or dwarf-king, one of the greatest. She would have established an empire, a domain of her own that would prosper - she often dreamed of this. She fantasized leading an army into battle, turning wastelands into productive trade routes and settlements... she was born to rule, with an inherent sense of personal greatness, all buried cynically under an extremely polished and mundane exterior. Oh, when she smiled and she "played nice", it was mostly likely an facade. Unless, of course, it was towards Malin or any one of her family. No one had known what had happened to the rogue that destroyed Malin's life. Dain suspected... but Dena knew.

Presently, there was no one to act to now, no one in front of which to pretend. It was just her, and... Gru.

He was sullen, angry at being dragged back to Erebor. His defiance, Dena guessed accurately, was being propped up all the more because he was starting to crack inside. She just needed to press the right buttons... and then he would crack. Dena had no qualms about making Gru suffer for his misdeeds, but she felt that empathizing with and affirming the thoughts and emotions that led him to his chosen course of action was the first place to start.

And then, she would press him,and convince him to yield, to redeem himself and his brother's name by helping them figure out just _who _was behind the break-in, explosion and stabbings.

* * *

><p>Many believed Nori was still in Erebor. In fact, most could not imagine otherwise. He had intended it that way. In the past year he had become very familiar with routes in and out of the mountain, to the nearest settlements, cities and domains. He knew exactly how long it would take to make a trip, what the weather conditions would be like, who he was likely to encounter (sneak past) on the way. Many outstation journeys had been made without a soul catching wind of it in recent times - that was Nori, for he did what he wished when he wished on his own.<p>

The Grey Mountains were now in sight, and Nori pressed his pony on, praying that the extra time he took could be bought upon his return. He would have this business concluded as soon as possible, and speed back to Erebor to display this to the king's face. He hoped nothing would change upon his return.


	13. Chapter 13

AN: The story is really not about Malin very much any more - I think she has had her "arc" so to speak and settled down reasonably well in Erebor (and had a relatively conclusive ending). The reason I put her into an AU in which nobody died is so that Dis would be a character in her own right, not just a "victim" and not just someone who is devastatingly bereaved. Don't get me wrong, she's not having it any easier here either... but a post-BOFA Dis would not be a full character. She would be someone who has had part (or almost all) of her person torn out of her... a mere shadow of the Dis *before*. I do however have more story to tell, to let's just see where we go from here... I thought I would just be writing about Malin at first, but then the other characters seemed to have their own story too that begged to be explored.

**Chapter 13**

The Snarling Warg was no pleasant family-owned inn and ale-house. Its was situated just outside the entrance to the official Grey-Mountain domain, at the foot of its hill. Its fare was appealing only to the wearied traveler who would not venture further on the four-hour hike into the more habitable part of the Grey Mountains where decent fare was served. Here, the meat was dry and pungent, the butter rancid and odorous, the bread made from molded-over grain... and to top it off, the price was exorbitant.

Nori was a dwarf accustomed to the habits of travel. He could easily have made it to the city-center, but instead deliberately chose to stop at the place that even if he had not entered before, would recognize instantly as a place for thugs and lowlifes. Still, he shook a significant percentage of the rainwater off his leather, water-proved hood-and-coat, and stepped in. He would order an ale, the most decent thing served in the place, since no dwarf who prized his life would dare serve watered-down ale or beer.

He felt a a clammy, rough hand stroke his neck and cringed involuntarily. This place was known for its... hospitality towards traveling dwarves.

"No," he grumbled at the bar-wench, "Not interested. Just an ale, please."

Then the female hand tapped him smartly on the shoulder,

"Hmm... you're getting slow, comrade."

Nori jumped, but quickly contained himself to hide his reaction and prevent any attention from being drawn towards them. He held firmly on to the hand and drew its owner nearer to him, though he could not see her.

"Otha," he mumbled, "You have to come back with me."

"I didn't," she whispered desperately, "I did _not _stab the two dwarves. I swear so!"

"There are many would have already done so," Nori snapped in irritation, "And yet, no killer has been found!"

"Please, Nori," Otha struggled to pull her hand free, "I cannot go back."

"So you slipped out and let someone else take the blame."

"I heard it was a young ironsmith, respectable and such. They would not hesitate to accuse a wench without morals."

"Otha..." Nori shook his head, "There is good in you, yet."

"I am what I am, Nori," Otha's fingers ran saucily through his beard, playing at flirting, "As you are, and will never change,"

"People change," Nori looked away, removing his hand from Otha's.

"They don't," Otha leaned in and whispered into his ear.

Nori knew exactly what he was doing, and Otha as well, when she brought him the ale, and got him a room. For the benefit of anyone who might be looking, they played a very good charade of "secretly" exchanging some coin. He paid her more than enough to buy her services for the entire night.

"Mmm..." Nori was not about to undress, so he laid his coat on the grimy floor and started to lay down to sleep, "I have bought you a night of freedom, a night of sleep. "

"So I _have_ to return?" Otha said warily. An empty bed never looked so welcoming.

"You have no choice," yawned Nori, "I will hunt you down and bring you back in chains if I have to."

"How exciting," drawled Otha.

"We leave first thing," Nori said warningly.

"Don't worry, I won't escape. I am a thief and a prostitute, but I am no good at sneaking about," Otha shrugged.

"Sleep!" growled Nori, "Don't you dare try anything..."

Otha scurried to blow out the table-lamp.

"Do not fear, I will not keep you from your little wife; I welcome the reprieve, myself," she said, "Good night, my friend."

* * *

><p>"This is not helping, Nori," Dori whispered in anguish.<p>

"Who is that?" Balin screwed his nose in disgust.

"Don't look at me like that," Otha's tongue squeezed its way out of her mouth before she could restrain it.

"What is your name?" Balin asked, his patience obviously wearing thin.

"You don't want to what they call me, love," Otha licked her lips and played at something on the table.

Nori glared at her,

"Otha. Her name is Otha," he insisted, and cast Otha a warning glare.

The council looked unimpressed.

Otha was as sassy and crude as sassy and crude could be.

"Shush," Nori pushed her, and she pushed him back with just as much strength, unhappy at being manhandled, "Otha is here to help. She has a confession."

"There must be a good reason for bringing _her _here," Thorin growled, leaning forward and putting his hand unconsciously on the hilt of the Orcrist, "Speak up."

"I... I... have a confession," Otha began, and nudged Nori, who was just starting to speak, to shut up.

"So you have said," Thorin grumbled.

Otha glared saucily at the king, cleared her throat and said bravely, "It was I who caused the explosion in the apothecary."

"You!" Dwalin nearly shouted in disbelief. He gazed for the first time at the strange, pitiful-looking creature before them, having been previously distracted by more domestic concerns. Pearl had looked so radiant that morning, her protuding belly becoming so very obvious and enchanting.

Otha was in stark contrast to the vision Dwalin was having... the wench was literally dressed in rags, Nori's traveling rags to be exact, for they had encountered some wargs on the return journey. Her long, curly and greasy black tresses fell about in a most untidy manner. Otha's posture was disrespectful, her face almost vulgar in its scowl. Yet, she had intensely large green eyes and a pleasant-looking features, most would admit, if not marred by her unmistakable air of a barmaid.

"I have some honour yet," Otha said stubbornly and sullenly, "I did _not _stab the dwarves and I do not know who did. Up until a month ago I dwelt in Erebor... having started a new life of sorts. It was an accident; I found myself in the apothecary in the early hours of the morning, and must have upset something or the other... "

"The explosives were kept under lock and key in the safe," Balin said, shaking his head disbelievingly, "And your presence in that apothecary, if indeed what you speak is true, is yet unexplained."

"She was stealing," Nori growled.

"Is that true?" Balin glared at Otha.

"Yes," Otha nodded, "I was."

She quickened to say, "The explosion was an accident, I swear!"

"And how you do you propose to explain how you escaped unharmed?"

"I heard the sizzling and ran out of the window from which I came, moments before the young lass entered the back room," Otha looked down at the ground.

"Hmph," snorted Dwalin, "Likely story. Still, that explains not who killed Urla's parents and why."

"What she says is true," Nori nodded and stated, "The rest I do not know, yet."

"Or is that what you would have us believe?" Thorin sat up, glaring at Nori. A weaker dwarf would have wilted at the irritation on his brow.

"It is true," Otha said quickly, bowing her head, "Forgive me. I gave in to my old habits and stole some things from the apothecary, causing an explosion. And then I behaved like a coward and escaped to my old life."

"Hmm," Balin doubted her real desire to reform, "If that is so, why speak up now?"

"Nori told me another could be accused should I not speak up. And, furthermore, he compelled me to return to Erebor."

"I trust you made no promises, Nori," Thorin said,"For we may not be able to keep them."

"Well," Otha said directly to the king, "I know it would be an easy thing to hang a fallen woman, someone of no value to a moral society. You feel the world should be rid of folk such as I, and would willingly jump to have been convicted.

The room fell silent.

"What were you stealing from the apothecary, Otha?" Nori questioned.

Otha gulped.

"Some compounds..." she mumbled brokenly, looking down in shame, "For a female problem."

"What sort?" Balin pressed, "We need to know to if we are to trust your story."

"I was with child!" Otha burst out, "I did not think it possible before... I did not know what do... I had to... deal the problem lest I lose my new position."

The council members faces were screwed up in disgust.

"And what was your new position?"

"A respectable privy-attendant," Otha replied defensively, crossing her arms, "It was a decent job. I'm used to doing things no one else wants to do."

Nori felt genuinely sorry for Otha. He didn't know about the council, but he sure did. Otha was an old acquaintance of his, and she was very wearied by all of life's difficulties. No one had cared for Otha or taught her any better. She had never had a chance at a decent life...

"Please," Nori said, standing up, "Let us detain Otha as witness."

"Aye," Otha nodded bravely, "Take me to your dungeons."

"You will find," Balin said after a moment, "They are not unpleasant. Not to those who had not been tried, at least."

"Otha," the king's voice was firm, "If you cooperate, we will secure your freedom. If however you mislead us the consequences will be severe. Nevertheless, whatever the verdict, we cannot withdraw the punishment for thievery. We can however look favorably upon your case."

Otha dumbly shut her mouth and nodded soberly... Nori gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as guards appeared and took her away.

"But who is the killer?" everyone thought.

* * *

><p>"You ought not to worry so much," Elekh said as she bent down at Fili's feet, working the strain of his ankles, "It tenses your muscles."<p>

"We are no closer to finding the murderers," Fili mumbled, his forehead tensed in pain as Elekh was not being gentle.

"Worrying does not solve anything," Elekh said in her practiced, soothing bedside-manner voice, "Talk about something that makes you happy."

Elekh had recently realized the area she wanted to specialize in as a healer - talking to patients about their fears and worries, grieves and hurts. It was not considered a "proper" field, but it did marvels for physical healing.

Fili shut his mouth stubbornly.

"How is Urla?" Elekh asked after a prolonged silence. She had moved on to trying to do something about Fili's neck and back.

"No better," Fili said. He would not admit that he had been watching her from afar. She was delicate, he knew. He didn't want to do anything to upset her, but he felt strangely drawn to her. He could not express this feelings, but, they left him feeling an odd mix of warmth and frustration.

"How do you feel about having a sister?"

_Sister. _Fili reminded himself, paused for a moment. He really ought to have been thinking of her as a sister, treating her like a sister. He felt angry at himself for having ideas beyond that, but what _does _one do with natural attraction?

"I worry for her," Fili said at last, "She pines after a lad, I do not know his name, only that he had ignored for a long time."

"Previously they were close," Elekh nodded, "I know. It is not good for her, it will only pain her more."

Fili's fists involuntarily curled. Urla had been sneaking out to catch glimpses of that fellow. Fili had noticed this, and worried for her.

"He is untrustworthy," Fili shook his head, "I can tell he's trouble."

"Hmm..." Elekh's deft finger poked at the Fili's uncovered spine, "Is it your warrior's instinct speaking, or something a bit more personal, eh?"

"Impertinence!" Fili exclaimed, "I have said nothing."

"Ah, Fili," Elekh shook her head teasingly, "Your mother does not notice, but as a woman and healer, I can see."

His secret was out, those hidden emotions Fili had prized himself in keeping strictly to himself.

"I have been nothing but honourable," Fili insisted, "I have not said anything, done anything, though something beyond my conscious control, a kind of madness, persists in my thoughts. I cannot root them out..."

Elekh grinned,

"That is love, Fili."

"No, no," Fili buried his face in his hands, receiving a whack from Elekh to push him back into place, "I can't. Urla doesn't need further emotional complication. Its to soon. I am wrong to feel this way, to desire her so."

"Fili," Elekh rubbed him comfortingly, a motion that did nothing to ease the sting of the stinging salve that was being applied to his back, "Urla needs love and care. There are few who could accept her in her present condition and few who her wellbeing as their concern. She would lucky to have won the heart of a prince."

"Princes are supposed to be romantic, so all the poems and lores of old teach," Fili complained, "And I am none of those things. I am clearly incapable..."

"Shush," Elekh silenced him, "As you said, clearly, it is not time. It is enough that you be a friend in her time of need. Put aside your feelings, see her as a person and not an object. Be honest, be yourself. If it is meant to be, it will."

Elekh finished up her duties and gathered up her supplies efficiently to take her leave.

"Thank you, Elekh."

"Thanks are for favours, not duties. I will report to your uncle and then return to the healing rooms. If you have need, send for any of us."

"I thought it was the custom for Oin to do so?"

"Oin," Elekh grinned, "Hmm... is he not otherwise occupied today?"

"Whatever do you mean by that?" Fili demanded in surprise.

"I shall not say," Elekh made the sign of sealing her lips, "Healer's discretion."

"I call it slyness," grumbled Fili, and let her leave.

Elekh updated the king briefly, and then answered whatever questions he had. Thorin was pressed for time, but was nonetheless impressed by the intelligent, capable and articulate young healer. She was precise, to the point, and very sharp, he couldn't help thinking. One day, Elekh could even be the head healer once Oin chose to retire. Still, that grumpy warrior had many good years in him left.

* * *

><p>"No, no, I am busy," Gryel insisted for the third time, "Go and have a good time."<p>

"My duties are so few," sighed Ale, "And yet it feels wrong to spend any time apart from meeting her ladyship's needs or attending to your bedside."

Gryel thought it good to have Ale outside the mountain wholesome company for a change.

"GO!" he snapped, and then flinched at the hurt look on Ale's face. His tone become gentle and affectionate, "Have a good time. Do not slight your friends by refusing their invitation."

"It will do you so much good, Adad, to be out in the spring sun with the flowers and such," Ale pleaded.

"No, no," Gryel reiterated, "It is wrong for me to hang about your neck. Have a good time."

So Ale left, with a reluctant parting glance. Still, her heart lept, for few occasions had she ever had to experience such a delight as a picnic. Grof had invited her, and the more dwarves heard of, the more had wished to have gone. It started with Dori taking Ori, Lallek, Dhori and Fona, and then Bofur caught wind of it, and where Bofur went so did his (sixteen?) nieces and nephews, and Bifur too, and Grof with her husband Floi as well. Where Floi went, Frar (and their mother) went also. And somehow it happened that Lady Malin was invited as well.

"You ought to go," Bombur suggested to Iga, "Fresh air and such."

Iga was immovable. She would stay and work, and Bombur could go if he liked, which of course he would not, not without his wife. Bofur would have none of it.

"The pub is closed today, so unless you wish to cook food that will be thrown to the pigs I insist you come," he demanded, "I am its owner and this is my wish - how can I in good conscience enjoy a day of frolicking when my brother and his wife slave away in my gantries?"

So it was settled.

* * *

><p>"Lassie," Malin sat down next to Fona with Dhori in her arms, "How are you doing? Nori has returned with a suspect, I heard."<p>

"Well enough," Fona said, "Though I am waiting for this affair to be over with. Dain has released my father back to Erebor, and he is being held up as a suspect as well."

"And a witness, I hear," Malin nodded, and then stated, "Do not fear, young one. This affair will soon be cleared up. Scandals may make your whole world seem to collapse, but soon it will be over and then you can live your life in the open again."

Fona nodded solemnly, taking Malin's words to heart.

"Believe me, dearest," Malin added, "Have hope..."

"What's that?" Bofur sidled up to them, "Up for some music, milady?"

"Aye, Lord Bofur," Malin replied in jest, "Would you have us weep tears of sadness or revel in drunken laughter now?"

"Bofur? Bofur isn't one for being sad, no," Bofur shook his head from side to side, his hat flopping in the wind, "Not on such a beautiful day, anyways. Sing for us, milady!"

"You would only make such a request should you wish for a cause to laugh," Malin politely declined, "But we want to hear your voice."

"Dancing, that's the ticket!" Bofur jumped up.

"Come, porklings," he called to his little nieces and nephews, "Show that you inherited more than a good appetite. Dance, now!"

* * *

><p>Urla's eyes smarted at she winced at her bare face in the looking-glass. She once had had a beautifully thick beard, but most of it had been singed and had to be shorn away. Now, the hair grew disgracefully in uneven clumps. Turning away, Urla glanced tentatively around before heading towards the front entrance.<p>

"Gong somewhere?" Kili asked.

He was curled up on a plush couch, buried in pillows. A tray of cakes was laid on a table in his reach, and a pitcher of cold wine as well. Piled on his laps were books about the culture and history of various cultures such as elves, men and halflings, and Kili alternated between his "studies" and dozing off. Still, what he read on elves was... interesting.

"For a walk," Urla said, offering no explanation. She trusted Kili to keep her secrets as she did his. Urla was feeling... lonely... for her old life and had taken to spying on her former love interest, Drayr, as he went about his daily business as a guard. He was not a personal royal guard, nor did he guard the royal quarters, but Urla caught sight of him patrolling the corridors around the Hall of the Kings and the goldrooms.

"Be safe," Kili mumbled casually, letting the book on Gondorian history drop to the floor and reaching for the tome that fascinated him most - the elves of Mirkwood.

"Mm..." Urla said.

On her short walk, she managed to avoid the regular, busy, paths, taking instead a higher walkway above the rest from which she could see dwarves bustling about down below. Still, wearing a hood, Urla managed to avoid being identified or noticed. She did, however, bump into an old fellow who was hobbling past her in some kind of hurry. She did not get a closer look at him because the lights were dim and she was distracted, and if she had, she would have recognized that fellow instantly.

That was Gryel. Determined as ever to solve the murder mystery and having been updated by Nori, he was busy going about investigating leads. Listening in on the interviews held in Gru's and Otha's prison cells, he came to the quick conclusion that there was a third person involved. He had been observing this guard for several days, unaware of the connection he had to Urla.

But, seeing Urla, he hastened to follow at some distance behind her and caught her at an indoor balcony, watching the guard Drayr as he stood at attention. By the look on Urla's face that was partially obscured by the red hooded cloak that covered her person, Gryel guessed she had some attachment to him.

Which was a pity, since Gryel had concluded that very morning that Drayr was the murderer... he had to be. He only had to convince Nori to come with him to speak to Dwalin.


	14. Chapter 14

AN: I've decided to try and write the story more floohfeh (fluffy) and darker at the same time. _Try. _

Oh, and instead of "Lord" this and "Lady" that, I plan to use the Khuzdul _uzbad _and _azbad _in the following ways:

Balin _uzbad. _

Since I do not know the posessive forms, "milady" "milord" "his lordship" and "her ladyship" are still in Common for now. But when the characters speak, they are almost always speaking in Khuzdul or use the Khuzdul terms, unless with non-dwarves.

Chapter 14

"Will you mix me up a fresh set of grease-pigment?" Dis asked Urla at breakfast, "Mine appears to have finished and Rugre insists I obtain a new one from the stores... I thought you might show me how to make them myself."

"I'll do so immediately," Urla said, shrugging, "I have nothing planned for today."

It was just Dis and Urla, and they were having scrambled eggs on toast, a welcome relief since meals that included the malefolk had to be rich in sizzling bacon, ham, sausage-links, fried pigeon, or any greasy and salty meat dish. Urla was by habit a moderate eater, and, to be honest, all the luxurious royal food was making her feel slightly sick to her stomach.

After the meal, Dis helped Urla find the jars she needed, and Urla mixed together the right minerals right in front of Dis and her attendant.

"If I match the tones to your skin-colour," Urla commented, "It would be far easier to use and blend into your skin."

In the still-room, Urla melted beewax and fragrant oils before adding in the mineral pigments and stirring until smooth. Soon, a little row of tiny finger-sized jars filled with the tan-coloured creams were arranged on Dis's vanity.

"You ought to make up a set for yourself," Dis commented.

"I... I... have never had my face painted," Urla's brow lifted in surprise.

"Neither have I until recently..." Dis said, then commanded, "Sit down, Urla, let's made a set for you."

"But..."

"I insist," Dis pressed, "For fun."

Dis thought that Urla's sadness was heavily caused by her appearance. Perhaps if Urla wore concealing grease, she would feel a little more confident, at least enough to venture out of the Royal Halls. It didn't have to be a lot... just something to make her look as pretty as she normally was.

It wasn't that Dis didn't know how to make cosmetics. In fact, she made a set very quickly for Urla, and then sat Urla in front of her looking-glass so that Rugre could do her magic.

And it was indeed magic.

Rugre had a small on her square-jawed face as she warmed the waxy cream between her fingers and worked it into Urla's face with the pad of her thumbs. She used a pair of scissors to judiciously trim Urla's beard is a very becoming style.

Urla was smiling at the way she looked... normal. Beardless, but normal. Rugre snipped away at the uneven beard and coarse eyebrows, trying to make something beautiful. She drew around Urla's eyes to make them bigger, and concealed the scars under layers of paint and powder.

The final effect was meant to be simple and understated, not whorish. And it worked. Urla tried not to show how relieved she felt to look... _normal._ Not like a mutant but an ordinary dwarf.

"There, there, dear" Dis said when Urla gave her a hug, "We can do this anytime you like..."

"It would be my pleasure, milady," Rugre added. She was a rather imposing figure, but performed her duties with excellence.

* * *

><p>"So... what do you think?" Urla asked Fili and Kili when they came home for the midday meal. She was busy arranging some books on the shelf for Dis.<p>

"Hm..." Kili said, "May I have some?"

Urla laughed and turned to Fili for approval.

Fili blinked in surprise.

"Ah... nearly didn't recognize you there," he stumbled over his words, and Urla's face fell.

"Oh," she said quietly, and changed the subject.

Kili nudged Fili, "You upset her."

"I know," Fili replied, slightly upset at himself, "But I was taken off-guard."

"A warrior is never taken off guard."

"Shut up," Fili said.

"Tongue-tied, some?"

"No. I just don't think she needs to paint her face. She looks perfect as she is, without all those layers of pigment."

"You can't tell ladies what you just think," Kili whispered loudly to who Fili who was drifting into his room to fetch some weapons for training, "You have to tell them what you think they want you to say... Nadad, you could do with some advice from someone who is an expert of on the lassies..."

Which was, of course, himself.

* * *

><p>Fili was seeing stars, and panting. Balin held up his hand, ceasing his fierce and relentless attack.<p>

"All right, laddie?"

Fili shook his head. His heart was pounding fiercely.

"Take a breath," instructed was only ever allowed to train with Balin (or Oin) anymore. Balin was strong, agile, and very capable, but Fili felt his diminished ability keenly.

Fili's breath came back fast and head as he struggled to get ahold of himself, the strain on his limbs being almost unbearable.

"That's enough for today," Balin continued, "Or Oin will have both our heads."

"Please," Fili begged, "One more round. If not, I will never be stronger than I am now."

Balin considered for a moment,

"Very well then," he agreed to indulge Fili.

Balin walked off with a sadness in his heart after the session. He felt good, yes, better than ever. He had only grown rugged with age, and it hurt him to see the young lad in the state he was.

Back in Balin's study, Epher had brought all the maps for him to examine. This time, they were maps of Erebor's lands.

"Hmm..." Balin sketched with his compass and a charcoal pencil, "Epher?"

"Yes, milord?"

"The boundaries here next to the Ironfoot Domain.. where do they lie?"

"All the maps leave that bit unclear."

"Surely it cannot be so... ah, nevermind. I will leave out this bit for now."

There was a knock at the entrance.

"Lady of the Iron Hills here," Epher announced.

Balin looked up,

"I have some inquiries," Lady Dena said quickly, "But if you are otherwise engaged..."

"No, but I have a problem I think you may be of some assistance with," Balin started to say.

"Indeed?"

"Here," Balin held up the map, "Exactly how many miles from the Lone Oak does the domain of Erebor end and that of the Iron Hills begin?"

"Three and a half miles northeast," Dena said quickly, "I know that road, I have traversed that bit of road before."

She pointed to a bit on the map.

"There are stones that mark the boundaries," she said, "Or at least there were."

She soon solved Balin's problem and put forward a proposal of her own.

"I chanced upon Oin who was lying in the sun on one of the outer courtyards. He is on a sabbatical of sorts for the next three days, and other than sunbathing, wishes to make a trip to Dale. I had hoped to accompany him... it is only a short ride, is it not?"

"Aye," Balin said, combing his fingers through a tangle on his beard, "And plenty safe. Have you been to Esgaroth before?"

"Never," Dena nodded, "But my pony is ill-disposed and I have need of a ride. Malin does not have a pony, and Dwalin's is recovering from his taxing errand."

"Oin wishes to ride, eh?" Balin sat down, "We usually walk. Of course you may borrow my pony. Minty is a fine steed if there ever was one. I'll send a note down to the stables for you."

Dena nodded her profuse thanks, perhaps with more eagerness than she usually let on.

"Malin does not see to enjoy riding," Balin shrugged.

Dena shook her head, a small smile creeping on the edges of her face.

"Aha! I see you have some stories in that regard," Balin laughed, and gestured, "Please stay and have some tea."

Epher had brought in a teapot and some crisp white desserts - they were sweet and tangy.

"Mmm..." Balin bit into one with a satisfied expression, "So, you know your way about the mountain, _already_?"

"Aye," Dena nodded, "More or less. It is not large or confusing, and I have itched to travel for many years. I am glad Dain believes it is safe for me here, and Malin is such a good girl, taking me around. I do not wish to be a bother, you see."

"Ah, Malin.. good girl indeed. I wish only to hear all that has transpired in the long years she has been in your care. I am not her father, but I may well be, considering our ages."

"She asked once or twice after her family as a child," Dena looked pointedly at Balin, "But I never had much to tell."

"Those were dark days," Balin looked down, "She would have had a poor sort of life with us. After the battle... I accompanied Thrain on his quest until he was lost to us. We experienced much difficulty. Dwalin wandered the wilds for years, and never took a wife until now."

Dena nodded in understanding. Balin shrugged, and that shrug lifted the mood.

"And what about you, fair cousin?" Dena smiled, her eyebrows lifting in merriment over the edge of the teacup, "Do you intend to settle down int he same way?"

Balin drummed his fingers on the table and looked away.

"Ah, well. Too late for me, not that I think had a chance anyway."

Dena's face registered some sympathy.

"The same goes for me as well," she said, "Though, you may understand, the prospect of me being alongside many eligible and wealthy kinsmen has the council Dain's council in a tizzy."

Balin chuckled. He had a deep, rumbling chuckle that Dena found very pleasant.

"Myself among them, I suppose?"

"Very much so," Dena leaned forward with a conspiratorial glance.

She looked very well, being tall and well-built for a dwarf, trim despite her years. She was a sprightly creature, and wore with effortless grace the selfsame "dumpy" outfits that failed to suit Malin's shorter figure. A shapeless gown only seemed to accentuate the defined lines of Dena's person, and in the lamplight Balin could not help but admire her intelligent, prominent brow and razor-sharp cheekbones.

He liked her well enough. They could be great friends.

* * *

><p>"Where are you going, Urla?" Rugre asked. She had come to love the little lass dearly and see her as her own. Rugre had once had a family, with a husband and two beautiful sons. They had taken after their father and become travelling dwarf merchants. Sadly, on one occasion they had encounter Gunabad orcs. They did not survive that encounter. Broken, but strong nonetheless, Rugre solved to start a new life in Erebor, and this determination was also become of her fierce loyalty to the line of Durin. Her father had been gravely wounded in the Battle of Azanulbizar, but Dis's mother, a princess and healer, had managed to restore him to his family, albeit maimed, even as she had been in the midst of great and unthinkable loss. Rugre had always treated Dis like the princess she was, and now, she delighted to serve her. Urla was the like daughter she never had as one, and though Rugre was a dwarrowdam stern of brow and sparse in speech, she had her ways of showing affection. That included watching Urla's comings and goings with maternal concern.<p>

"For a walk," Urla said.

"A little excursion out of doors would do you good, I do not see why you chose not to accompany _azbad _Dis on her little picnic," Rugre commented. She had spoken more than she usually did, but was only acting out of a good conscience.

"I... I..."

"There are nothing but stone corridors and torches," sniffed Rugre, shaking her head, "Guards coming and going... might as well go for a warm bath and a swim."

"I think not," said Urla quietly. She slipped on her hood and set determinedly out.

Rugre looked up with a frown. This was not like Urla... she had been disappearing to who knows where in the daytime when Dis was not present.

"Dis would disapprove," Rugre thought, "And certainly fear for her safety."

Rugre looked around. She was mending a beaded headpiece that belonged to Dis, and had nothing but a large pair of iron sewing scissors to serve as a weapon. There were knives in the kitchen...

The lady's maid put that thought out of her mind quickly. It was foolish and childish.

Arming herself with a walking staff that she favoured and putting the scissors in her velvet pocket as a precaution, Rugre silently followed Urla out of the Royal Halls at a distance. She felt terribly self-conscious and slightly silly, having been a mother and merchant's wife but not a guard or spy. She squared her shoulders and decided to walk as if she were on Royal Business. This was not uncommon, as Dis had many demands, many errands...

Urla was behaving suspiciously. First, she went and watched the changing-of-the-guards by one of the heavily locked treasury entrances, and then nearly went down there herself several times, hesitating and turning back each time. Finally Urla bravely made her way down the steps, across the walkway, and walked past the guards.

Rugre observed this with her sharp eye for detail. She noticed Urla blush and tremble slightly. She did not walk directly in front of the treasury door but linger some distance away, pretending to admire some of the statuettes, but was clearly _pretending. _Urla was one of those unfortunate lasses who could not help wearing her heart on her sleeve, so to speak.

Finally a voice that Urla had been waiting for anxiously sounded, and she trembled before turning eagerly around.

"Urla!" called one of the guards.

Rugre didn't like the looks of him - dashingly handsome, but almost in a vulgar or brutish way, as if he was used to having his way around women.

"Part of royal family now, are you?" he taunted her.

Urla looked down with absolute timidity as the guard wandered up to her. She shook her head briefly,

"Just live there, is all."

"Look at you," he laughed, "Not quite the same lass now, are we?"

"Haven't... haven't seen you awhile now," Urla stammered,

"Been busy," he stated, lifting his china and looking down at her with disdain hovering over his features.

"Back to work, are you?" he asked loudly.

Urla shook her head, looking down.

"Well," he looked away, "I'm busy... See you around."

Urla turned to watch him leave, her eyes large and obviously wounded. He had remarked on her appearance, hinting that he thought she was rather diminished in beauty... and he clearly wasn't interested in further communication.

Urla wanted him to smile, say how much he miss her, ask her how she was... but nothing. She only wanted him to look at her, hold her hands like he once did. Nothing.

"Say, Urla," he turned around, the guard's uniform too shiny by the light of the wall-torches. There was a dangerous glint his eye that Urla did not catch, but Rugre did, "The royals... they around much?"

"Depends," Urla looked up, hopeful but confused.

Then that dreadful fellow was suddenly very talkative. _Smart-arse, _Rugre thought, _Conniving, ruthless... _He started to ask about the royal family's doings, about the royal quarters, and Rugre decided she would do something just at this very moment. Urla didn't seem to have a clue what the dwarf was driving at...

"Urla!" Rugre rushed breathlessly up to her and tugged Urla's arm, playing her role very well indeed, "Come with me! The princess Dis is look for you!"

She was not a good fibber, but quite a decently actress (one had to be, working with Dis). That was the best excuse she could up with.

Rugre pulled Urla away in quite a hurry, but turned back to see Drayr the guard watching them with a scheming look pass across his unguarded face.

_Probably wants Urla to help him get a promotion, _Rugre thought.

The big question now was... what to tell Dis.

* * *

><p>"<em>Azbad,<em>" Ale greeted the Lady of the home reverently when she entered.

"Ale!" Pearl smiled, "Malin has been gone for several hours, and there is a dinner to attend tonight."

"She is on her way," Ale said. She was carrying several clean dresses for Malin to choose from.

"As soon as Malin is dressed, I suppose you are leaving for your spearing lessons?" Pearl asked.

"No," Ale shook her head wryly, "My wrist is yet injured."

"Oh, nevermind then. I can visit Iga tomorrow, I just wanted to hand her a recipe she's asked me for."

"I am going to the public house for dinner, still, milady. I can "

"Having some ale, are you, Ale?" Pearl laughed.

"Aye," Ale nodded, "Though now my father says it is more respectable if I change my name to "Ayel". He calls me that, in any case."

"Which do you prefer?"

"I do not know, milady." Ale stated blandly. She really didn't know what to think.

"You do not wish to have your meals with my servants?" Pearl asked, and quickly clarified, "I see you take dinner in the infirmary quite often as well."

"I don't want to be a trouble, milady."

"You are a member of this household," Pearl said kindly, "You may eat here as often as you like, though I understand perfectly if you want to spend every spare moment with your father or with your friends..."

"Thank you, milady," Ale turned to leave.

"And how is your father, Ale?"

Ale stopped and sighed,

"He took a turn for the worst, yesterday. I should not have left him to go to the picnic. Today he did not wish to see me, merely sleep. And tonight he meets with the _azbad _from the Iron Hills on official business."

"Ah, Dena," Pearl nodded, "That is curious."

Ale shrugged, and excused herself.

Stepping into Malin's supposedly empty room, she found the dwarrowdam curled up in bed, reading a letter.

"Azbad!" exclaimed Ale.

"I know, I know," Malin waved her hand in greeting, "But there is a secret back door Dwalin has not told Pearl of yet. I rather think he himself has forgotten it... In any case, I wanted some peace and quiet, not chatter. Besides, she's getting to the point of demanding all kinds of foods."

Malin felt a little slighted when Dwalin started bringing all sorts of treats for Pearl... and none for the rest of them or even himself. Before he was married, she had her gruff brother all to herself, to hug, to argue with... to feed and be fed by... it just was different now, and she told herself to stop being a baby about it and take it in her stride. Having a married and preoccupied brother was better than having _no _brother.

"A letter, milady?"

"From the Red Mountains," Malin mumbled, "They've started the trade routes going again and soon I will be able to buy candied ginger."

_That _was a happy thought.

"Shall we get dressed, milady?"

"Yes. A bath will not be required. I bathed yesterday..."

"Very well, milady."

"I'm not Dis. I don't bathe _every _day."

"Indeed, milady."

"Coming with us?"

"Of course not, milady. I will dine with Grof and Floi _uzbad _tonight. Bifur has invited me to dinner with them."

"You don't have to call Floi _lord,_" Malin scoffed, "A foolish young'un he is, inexperienced. Besides one must call brothers and sister, husbands and wives by the same rank. Would you call Bifur and Bofur _uzbad?_"

Ale bowed her head,

"I do not know_, __azbad._"

"Don't take it to heart, sweetie," Malin arose from her bed, "It's confusing when ranks are all jumbled and you have all the important dwarves under one mountain. Now, I tell you what, that dark green dress Balin sent me hasn't been worn in a few months, but its as good as new. I think those few additional pounds of sweeties will make me quite unable to squeeze back into it ever again. Its a laced dress, isn't it?"

"Aye, milady," Ale said.

"Then I'll lace you into it for dinner tonight," Malin decided.

Ale looked surprised.

"And you may keep it," Malin added, "For I do not favour blue."

Malin did more than lace Ale into a dress. Ale felt quite bewildered as found their roles reversed, with her ladyship dressing _her _and braiding something nice and sweet into her hair. Ale blushed as she looked at herself int he bronze looking glass.

"What a beautiful little miss," Malin sighed happily as Ale beheld herself.

Ale could only blush. She thought herself overdressed for a night at a pub... but didn't dare say a word.

* * *

><p>Bofur grinned from the corner where he sat, serving drinks and entertaining half-drunk and fully-drunk dwarves at the counter. Ale had come in, turning some eyes. The dress was not gawdy, not too jeweled and definitely not revealing. It was understated but very, very sweet.<p>

"Go right in," Bofur waved Ale excitedly to the kitchen, "Grof and Floi were both called away at the last meeting for some royal function. I'm afraid you have only the old beans and little pods for company tonight, if you don't mind."

"I do not mind," Ale smiled at Bofur, "Anything will do."

"Come, come" Bifur signalled with his hands, relying on the sign-language he found comforting, "Dinner?"

Ale nodded shyly.. Bifur was always so effusive, so eager to please.

"I thought to wear nice clothes for dinner," she tried to explain in sign language without embarrassing herself, "Respect."

Bifur was not badly dressed himself, though any variation in his wardrobe simply meant one working-leather-brown-tunic or the other. Bofur on the other hand played host every night to his guests, and always wore something that was a guaranteed conversation starter.

He led her to the back kitchen, and into the pantry. The food smelt especially delicious to Ale, and both Iga and Bombur greeted her and pointed to a long table set in the corner of the pantry.

"Special treat," Bombur signed, "Not on menu."

He was grinning. Obviously he had had his share of the treat before the night shift began.

Bifur bowed ceremonially as they stepped into the pantry corner. A table, with some candles and an absolutely scrumptious looking whole roast piglet sat awaiting her. Ale's eyes were round as she eyed the golden, crispy pigley skin. There was even an apple in the piglet's mouth. Some of the youngest children, especially Bur, were already sitting at the table silently waiting to tuck in. As Bombur, Iga and Bofur were working the night shift, they couldn't join the feast.

The best ale was served, and she found her really tucking in ferociously, and so did Bifur, in fact. Dwarves in general, when nervous, do not refrain from eating, especially not such a rare delicacy as soft, roasted piglet. Friend apples and onions were the sides, along with baked potatoes and green peas, all of Ale's favourite food. Then came a tray of assorted tarts made of spiced winter preserves and seasoned with honey, treacle or sugar.

"Thank you very much," signed Ale when she put down a fork, too full for words. She was contemplating the complexities of loosening the lacing on the dress...

Bifur wagged his head from side to side and signed,

"Special."

Ale was too full to even speak. She put a flagon of Best Beer (as Bofur termed it) to her lips and then set it down to sign,

"Too much. Too generous."

Bifur shook his head and shrugged.

"Share with friends," he signed, "Piglets on sale."

"You are too nice," Ale said out loud, breaking the silence.

"We_ want_ to be nice," Bifur startled her by speaking too, for the first time that night.

When Bifur was not thinking carefully, he spoke in rather archaic Khuzdul that uneducated Ale found a little to understand. He continued, nervously rambling something rather eloquent, rather quickly, but Ale felt bewildered. She tried to read his expression and gestures but found they made no sense to her.

Ale scratched her head as Bifur finished what he was saying and looked at her shyly and expectantly.

Iga, who had been watching the exchange with one eye on stove, upon which sat a sizzling cauldron of lard, and one eye proceedings, spoke up,

"Cousin, you have hands, use them."

Bifur glanced at Iga, reached into his pocket and brought out a toy eagle. It was an exquisite, dainty little thing and quite magical. He turned the knob on the bird and it began to fly. The children had already whipped out their own toys and had begun to play with them on the table and on the floor, so they were not particularly interested in this one.

Bifur spoke slowly, now.

"You are like an eagle. Beautiful. Strong. Important. Noble. Not common, special. Don't forget that. This is for you."

His words came out haltingly and smiled as Ale accepted the gift. When Bifur smiled, his whole face lit up and even his eyes smiled. In that respect, he was rather like Bofur.

Ale felt very overwhelmed by the compliment and she started to tear.

Iga came over, sensing Ale's emotions. Bifur looked startled at Ale's face.

"It's alright, dear," Iga said, "We just wanted you to feel special tonight. You never had a birthday, so it was our idea to give you a little feast as if it was your birthday. That's how we do birthdays for our lads and lassies... something special to eat, usually a roast piglet, and a toy from Uncle Bifur with special meaning."

Ale sniffed.

"These past few months you haven't spoken," Iga said while Bifur nodded vigorously, "Never said a word. But it must have been hard. You are a special treasure, truly. You are not worthless, don't ever think that of yourself. You are not worthless. No one should or will despise you and I promise that we never will."

Ale's shoulders quivered as she buried her face in Iga's ample bosom and choked soundlessly.

"Adad is dying," she cried, "At first I didn't want him, but now he's dying. A father... is better than _no _father. It's not fair. I never had a father, never belonged anywhere. Then he came suddenly and now he's going. I never had anyone to call adad. And he won't... won't tell... anything."

Ale's voice can in starts now as she lost her ability to speak. Pain, an orphan's pain filled her chest. She just felt so... lost. Alone.

Part of the reason why she had such a bond with Kili was that he didn't have _his _father in his life, either. Kili felt naturally sympathetic with the scrawny, ragged lass who belonged nowhere because he felt the same lack. With his brother, father, even mother he felt pressured by so many expectations. Ale and Kili had felt free to be children together, to do reckless and silly things. Kili was like a big brother to her, a brother she never had. Kili didn't treat Ale differently because she was fatherless, and Ale didn't treat Kili differently even though he was supposed to be a prince.

Then there was Bifur, whom she looked up to as a role-model, as an instructor and a teacher. She admired his skill, his bravery, his experience... Ale couldn't believe how much the entire House of Bur (as was the name of their paternal grandfather) accepted her as one of their own and lavished so much affection and warmth. But they were like that, a jolly, oversized, and slightly dysfunctional family - Bombur, with his many children, Iga with her compulsion to work, Bofur with his broken past and Bifur... who was, just Bifur. They always took such good care of her and she wondered if this what what it was like to be part of a _real _family.

From the way Bofur, who had drifted in the kitchen, Bombur and Bifur were discretely looking at her, she knew they understood what she was going through, though they didn't use as many words as Iga. Ale had indeed begun to have feelings for Bifur, but she, like many dwarves, chose not to give voice to them. She felt she would never be valuable enough to be considered desirable.

Then at the right moment, Bofur lightened the mood with a toast a brand new song for the "birthday lass", as he called it, and Ale could not object.

Soon, Drof and husband, Grof and Floi came in. Drof had had stayed up late to work and now sat down to _her _supper - more roast piglet. Floi and Grof had eaten, but Grof was interested in chatting with Ale whilst Floi sat on the floor and played with the children, the only one one of the grown-ups who really did so.

Iga smiled affectionately at her son-by-marriage. He was such a sweet fellow and so good with the children. Grof had tended to be more on the unaffectionate and intolerant side with her siblings, declaring at the age of forty that she _hated _having so many brothers and sisters. Grof had mellowed and grown less feisty as the years went on, but now Iga sensed something. She suspected Floi badly wanted children, and Grof did not not. Iga felt a slight rift between the young newlyweds... she would have to speak with her daughter. Iga did not think of herself as a good mother. She had not been particularly close to any of her children and found it difficult to talk about personal matters with them especially as they got older. She was a great friend, generous and loving by nature, but with her own children she had always felt... barriers. Personal inadequacy, for one thing, and simple inability.


	15. Chapter 15

AN: This fic can go either ways now. I do plan to mask the bitter with sweetness, if that's possible, but I just hit upon an idea that I really like, but it will be really really dark and tragic, as bleak and hopeless as possible. Is that what you'd like to read? Or, would something happier be preferable? I am borrowing the Sherlock/Moriarty trope but there may be a Broadchurch/TheMissing type scenario in the near future *hint* *hint*.

I have a feeling that there are way, way too many OCs in this story to make it believable. But I find it too coincidental sometimes when there's just 1 OC and a whole lot of familiar characters. I want to be like actual life under the mountain as much as possible.

Chapter 15

"I don't see why he's here," Gryel glared at Gru, who was seated across from him around the stone council-table. Gru glared quite defiantly back.

"I did _not_... I _could _not. I was not even in the mountain, but a day's journey away."

"It's true," Nori glanced at Gryel with an affirmative nod, "He left with a trading caravan, signing his name quite boldly on the register, I might add. It took the royal guard some time to have him dragged back here."

"Poisoned a member of the royal line," Gryel added pointedly, "Treason."

Gru looked down. He had no defense.

"Gru obtained lodging and help from a very suspicious set of characters," Dena offered, "And that is why Gru is with us, to give testimony. Gru is in the custody of the Erebor guard and his own life is in danger."

Dena was pragmatic. Here was the fellow who nearly killed her brother, but she understood his predicament. And it wasn't that she didn't how what it meant to exact revenge, either. Revenge, or justice, whichever was more opportune, could wait. They needed Gru's help, and they needed to protect him and keep him alive as a witness. She knew several brews... tasteless ones furthermore that could be secreted into foods or used to taint drinking water - not enough to kill, mind you, just to inflict a great deal of discomfort... Here her great self-control came in handy as she effectively masked whatever protective instincts she had under a guise of coolness. It did excite her, of course it did, to have something _worthwhile _and _interesting _to do. Erebor was a little more than a heap of rubble and a kingdom spiraling quite possibly into lawless chaos. What could be better?

Gru told them all he could. He had arrived in Erebor with only one address given to him by a shady character from the Iron Hills - the address of an inn that really served as a brothel.

"Is there a brothel in Erebor?" Nori was surprised.

"Underground," Gru shook his head, "Hidden, though I know where it is now. They bribe guards, I believe."

"There always are brothels..." Dena stated knowingly, "But we can deal with this _after _the murderers are caught. No use raiding, for they will destroy any evidence or witnesses we might find."

"Its true," Gru said, "I hid in one. When I came to Erebor, I needed to hide. The... barmaids... arranged for me to hide with them, and I think they must have followed me about the mountain, even when I visited Fona. The poisons I had with me from the Iron Hills, but I needed aid in orchestrating the plan. They have a leader, someone who never shows his face. They call him the "Innkeeper"."

"That's all we know, now, though we will pursue more leads on that," Nori said, "I might ask Otha if she knows of any "Innkeeper."

"Please do," Dena remarked.

Gru passed Nori a piece of paper on which was scribbled the rough directions to the "Inn".

"Clever location," Gryel peered over Nori's shoulder, "I wouldn't have thought of that."

Ori wanted to look too.

"Shush," Nori pushed him away and tucked the note into his pocket, "No place for a decent lad to visit."

"Wasn't going to," Ori protested, "But I need to write down all the evidence, see?"

Nori sighed and relinquished it to Ori's inspection.

"Gru was saying that he escaped before paying for their services," Dena nudged Gru, "Is that right?"

"Aye. They have a reason to be angry, but had Fona accused instead."

Gryel spoke up, "Now that we have Gru's side of the story, we can trace the planting of the bloody daggers in Fona's smithy to the Innkeeper and his lot. But what can be learned of the daggers?"

"Nothing," Nori scoffed, "Ugly, plain things with no maker's mark."

"Whoever had the evidence planted... in all likelihood is the murderer," Dena said. She was not minding the fact that she was missing an important dinner with royalty, not at all, in fact.

"They wouldn't go to all that effort to commit a murder and implicate Fona, would they? They could have just murdered her, after all?"

Gru glared at Gryel's matter of fact statement.

"How would you like to see a daughter of yours murdered? I'd suggest you keep your lips sealed. You think to much for your plebian mind to..."

Gryel cast a poisonous-dagger look across the table at the greyed noble. There were two things he could not bear being insulted - his socials status or his daughter.

"Ahem," Nori said quickly, "Perhaps you'd like dinner now, Gru. We're quite done with recording your testimony and will come with more questions later. Much thanks, you have been most helpful."

Some guards outside the door escorted Gru away.

"We carn't let the Innkeeper know we're on to them," Gryel suggested to Dena and Ori after he managed to find his voice again.

"Calm yourself, sir," Ori suggested, handing him a hot cup of tea from the samovar, "We spend the whole day investigating, and you were quite out of breath by the end of it."

"Investigating a guard named Drayr, a friend of Urla's," Ori replied, "He is quite a suspicious character. A good guard, says his superiors. His fellow guards tell another story - disappears a lot, they say, and has a lot more money than they think quite right. After following his activities we think he's been stealing money out of the royal treasury, a little at a time."

"Is he still with Urla?"

"No," said Gryel, "I never saw hide nor hair with his the entire time Urla was laid up. She went looking for him recently. I saw her. He didn't see or acknowledge her. 'Spect he's more into pretty lasses."

"Oh, that's too bad," said Ori, "Urla is very nice. It isn't all about looks, you know."

Gryel nodded in agreement, but Dena was not listening. She was busy thinking... the explosion was accounted for but not the murders. Who would wish to kill Urla's parents, and why? And was this Drayr a mere ruffian, or working as part of a larger, more sinister plan?

* * *

><p>Supper was over, and Dis returned promptly from dancing to find Rugre was waiting for her.<p>

"How is Urla?" Dis asked. Urla had not wanted to come, of course she wouldn't.

Rugre set down her sewing and quickly went to relieve Dis of the too-tight lacings on her gown,

"Umph, I had better had them laced loose for good," Dis sighed mournfully. She was no longer the wasp-waisted legend she once was, not after two sons.

"Yes, milady," Rugre agreed, "Urla is out on our overlook, enjoying the stars. Some fresh air will do her good, I keep telling her. She's always cooped up amongst the dusty things."

"And has she made any progress in "

"Sent three barrels of clothes away, she has," Rugre said, "Mostly old stuffs."

"Good, that's good."

Fili noticed his mother leave the feast, and decided to go home to bed early, being more tired than he usually was. Stepping into their halls, he heard Dis and Rugre speaking in their rooms. What neither of them had realized yet was the sounds of Dis's room wafted down to the corridor quite clearly, and that no conversation held there was truly private. Fili had upset his breakfast several times hearing certain remarks of Dis.

"She met with a friend today, came across him in the corridors. Not a nice lad at all."

"Ow," Dis exclaimed as Rugre's firm brushing tugged on her sensitive scalp, "Is... is... he a _significant other_?"

"Don't know, milady," Rugre replied, "Wasn't at all nice to her, he was."

Fili didn't want to hear any more; he would only be angry at this insensitive fellow. He poured himself a glass of wine and went towards the balcony. Stepping out into the dewy night, he sighed, feeling the chill wind on his face.

And then he stopped, for there was Urla, lying comfortably on one of Dis's lean-back chairs. It was a deck-chair, made out of wood, that Dis had bought in Dale specifically for looking at the stars. It was rather long, of course, being made of the use of Men.

Urla was sleeping. In her arms she gripped a book, a handwritten tome that was quite old. She had a soft smile on her face and the face-painting from early in that day had been washed away during a warm bath prescribed by Rugre, and her long curls were left down to dry. They were a little untidier than usual, hanging quite poetically about and framing her round face.

Fili gulped, feeling sick to his stomach from the combined effects of roast pork and unrequited love. He tightened his grip on the wine glass and took from it a big, but restrained and silent, gulp. He didn't want to move, to make a sound or spoil the moment by waking Urla up. He wanted to simply stand there and look at her in the dim moonlight, so sweet and beautiful and perfect... and not his. Her heart, if there was any of it left, most likely belonged to someone else.

_Ah. _Fili's thoughts were not quite cohesive, but he knew at this precise moment that he defined liked... no... _loved _Urla very very much. He pictured himself creeping over to her, kneeling down by her side and briefly kissing that marbled forehead of hers, and wondered what it would taste like under his lips, what she would _smell _like... but Fili remained rooted to the spot.

Then he heard footsteps and knew Kili and Thorin were arriving in the halls. Reluctantly, with a great amount of effort, Fili turned quietly and reentered the warmth of the mountain.

Quickly he fled to his room and shut the door. Fili thought wistfully that Urla would never want him - a battle-broken, wounded former warrior.

Alone in his room, he let go of the magic that he had grown accustomed to carrying about with him when others were around. Watching his skin unmask itself as he undressed, Fili felt the tiredness in every bone, the weakness in every muscle.

He splashed his face with water from the washbasin and clambered into bed, his last thoughts of the day he woke up from the Battle.

* * *

><p>The last thing Fili expected to see when he groggily opened his eyes after the Battle of Five Armies was the elf-king hovering by his bed.<p>

"MMmhm.." Fili moaned, feeling an ache in his chest, a stabbing pain in his head, and a great many other complaints. Still, what could one expect after being bludgeoned, stabbed, and left unconscious for dead on the battlefield.

Fili had not sensed any presence but his, not a sound or even a breath, but he now saw the large, umistakable face of Thranduil, the cold and immense elvenking.

Only he wasn't cold. Fili squinted. Thranduil was dressed as usual... and looked unscathed, but he was looking right at Fili and he looked inexplicably grieved.

"Little one," began Thranduil voice. It was deep, but gentle and melodic. Fili never thought this imposing figure could be tender... why was he even here? Was this a dream?

"Ar..." Fili opened his mouth and promptly found his throat full of phlegm.

"Shh," Thranduil placed a finger on Fili's lips, "You musn't speak."

He straightened up, and a pleased look crossed his face as Fili's eyes followed him.

"They told me you would not live. I proved otherwise."

Fili choked.

"Shh!" Thranduil suddenly turned back fiercely and glared at Fili, "Do not injure yourself. I did not heal you for you to take your own life through the foolishness of your own kind. Your monstrosity of a uncle dragged you into battle, and there he is now, surprisingly, _not dead. _Your brother too, was quite easy to tend to. _You, _however,"

Thranduil paused and Fili blinked hazily. The glittering elf-king was not an easy sight for his sensitive eyes.

The talk, hulking figure gracefully bent down, leaning close to Fili and taking one his hands.

"Golden beauty," he said fondly, "So unlike most dwarves. Perhaps just as witless, but so very young. And beautiful."

Fili shrank back in fear.

"Hush," Thranduil said, straightening up to his full imposing height, "Fili, prince of Erebor, I have decided to grant you a gift."

When Thranduil gave a gift, he expected it to be received, with much gratefulness. Fili sat up, stammering.

"Stand up," Thranduil commanded, his body coming alight suddenly and frightening the young dwarf dressed in bedclothes and bandages.

Fili suddenly felt a blast of elven magic that pushed away the bedcovers and brought him to his feet in the healing-tent.

"Kneel," said Thranduil, and Fili found his knees obeying, despite how his mind was spinning at the moment.

Thranduil muttered some words in his language that Fili did not understand, and, suddenly he felt a small hovering Presence or Aura on his skin.

"It a Magic given to few," Thranduil saw in his calculating, cold, voice, "You will be able to hold the Mask in the presence of others except those you truly wish to show yourself to. But to those who know... who have seen... they will only see healing when if fact there is not."

"Th... th..." Fili tried numbly to mutter his thanks but the elven-king immediately swept out of the room and disappeared. Fili had scarce seen him since, and if he did, there was nothing between them that betrayed their encounter. Fili sometimes wondered, if it were not for the Magic, if this meeting had been a dream or if Thranduil had spoken to him in a vision of sorts.

_A mask. A mask to cover his disfigurement._ Fili knew that now, though it puzzled him greatly at that time. Soon he realized that when his wounds healed he could hide them through a conscious decision, that soon became a subconscious state of mind. They became dry, ugly but otherwise uninfected. Large lacerations on his legs and back, and the complete clawing out of skin on one side of his chest that had been stitched and grown-over in a gruesome fashion.

Of course, Fili told no one of the elvenking's Gift. In front Kili, Thorin, the healers and the other members of the counter, he never hid it completely. But he did hide the visible scarring of his arms from his mother, and the rest. It was not very powerful magic, but Fili could hide the fact that he was in body quite horrifically injured.

He grimaced every time he uncovered his body and examined it in a looking-glass, which was not often. Fili hated looking at himself - no lass would have him, they would be terrified to see him as he was.


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Bonus chapter today, since I had the inspiration.** Kinda decided not to beat around the bush and make the Fili/Urla pairing official. What do you think of this ship - seaworthy, or a shipwreck in the making?

**Chapter 16**

Malin had eaten and drank a great at supper. There was much to enjoy, and as usual, much to celebrate.

She had returned home having danced upon Dis's insistence, and a very happy-but-tired Ale undressed her, helped her wash, and tucked her into bed.

Malin's last thoughts were about the need to get a new pair of ear trumpets for Oin, one that he did not have to hold up his ear but wear constantly, on both sides of his head. She had been invited to go with Oin and Dena to Dale the day after. Malin had attempted to decline but Oin could not hear her over the din of the supper-table, and, consequently, it ended up that she was going.

Dear Oin, Malin was very fond her cousin, truly. He had been so kind ever since she had arrived in Erebor, friendless and alone. Malin felt guilty for all times she avoided him at social functions because he was hard of hearing and tended to draw much attention to himself with his loud speech.

Her thoughts faded as she hugged her wolf-pelt blanket and began to snore, dreaming about oversized teapots and scary, tangled beards. The more she slept, the worse the beard-tangles became until she was desperate and almost ready to give up...

"Malin! Wake up!" Balin shook her, "Sound the alarm!"

Malin sat up straight, jumping away from Balin.

"Didn't mean t'scare you," Balin said. He was wearing his warm red dressing-gown and looked worried.

"What has transpired?" Malin asked, her thoughts going to Pearl, "Is Pearl well?"

"I'm afraid not," Balin said, shaking his head, "Please go to her. Dwalin has gone for Oin."

"Is it..." Malin gulped as she jumped out of bed and grabbed her matching red dressing-gown, "The baby?"

"Baby? No," Balin shook his head, "She is having a bad case of stomach-flu, something wrong with the dinner."

Malin fled immediately to Pearl's side.

Entering Dwalin's bedroom was no easy feat. The dark, menacing corridor led to room that looked more like a dungeon than a room, with iron railings and the heads, bodies and furs of hunted animals as well as all manner of weaponry arranged effectively as decoration. But Malin saw none of that now, only Pearl, in her nightgown on the floor, bent over the the washbasin and spasming. She was coughing, trying to vomit out something that was causing a sharp ache in her belly and much distress. Malin's shaking hands immediately poured from water from a nearby pitcher onto one of Pearls's towels and she bent to wipe Pearl's mouth.

Suddenly Malin realized in the light of the burning torch that Pearl was vomiting blood.

That was not good.

Dwalin could lose his wife _and _the baby if she didn't act fast.

Stifling a gasp and a sob, Malin tried to think of what to do. Pearl was beginning to vomit, and then choked. Her face purpled as she tried desperately to breath and Malin immediately worked to help Pearl expel whatever it was by bear-hugging her from behind and fisting Pearl's belly. Immediately, Pearl gagged and a huge glob of smelly red slime surfaced.

Pearl began to cough great hacking coughs, collapsing on the floor in a heap of tears and sweat.

"Drink," Malin hurried poured a glass of water and Ale, who had just entered the room, pulled the disgusting basin away. She felt like gagging, herself.

Pearl dropped the glass with a sudden strong reaction, shattering it on the cold stone slabs of the floor.

"Dis!" Pearl choked, "Poisoned wine."

"What?" Malin replied, wiping Pearl's face and cradling her weak frame against hers. Malin felt the place, low down, over Pearl's brown, woolen, night-gown where the baby was, "Is the baby all right, Pearl?"

Pearl's face creased with worry and she choked a cry.

"Shhh..." Malin calmed her, "Did Dis drink the same wine?"

Pearl nodded mournfully,

"A lot of it. We shared a glass. I only sipped a very little bit. Dwalin told me not to drink, I should have listened..."

Here tears were freely flowing, and Pearl was not one to cry. Pearl's strong voice was quivering...

"It's not your fault, dearie," Malin tried to say, but Pearl protested,

"It is... I've always drunk too much and I may have hurt the baby," she cried, rasping, "And Dis drank a lot more than I. I thought... I thought the wine tasted odd but put it down to the pregnancy... oh..."

"Dis must be warned," Malin resolved.

She turned to Balin, who was waiting uncomfortably by the door,

"Balin, are the servants awake?"

"Aye," he replied tensely, "They are in the kitchen boiling water."

"Send one, whichever one, to the royal quarters to ask after Dis. She may be poisoned as well..."

"No..." Pearl coughed, "Would not be safe to send one..."

"Nevermind then," Malin tried to carry Pearl to her bed and Balin came over to help, though he was a little hesitant to carry his brother's wife, "I'll go."

"No, I'll go," Balin said. He didn't have time to spare, so Balin immediately grabbed one of Dwalin's axes for protection and ran off as if a pack of wargs were on his tail.

There was nothing to do but hope for the best and get Pearl to come down. Hopefully, all the rotten stuff, whatever it was, had been expelled and Pearl could lie back fall asleep.

* * *

><p>Dwalin hammered at the door to Gloin's home and Gloin answered.<p>

"Oin! I need him!" Dwalin exclaimed, "Is he asleep?"

"Emergency at the ward," Gloin yawned, "Baby crying all night too..."

"Pearl needs help..." Dwalin said, "Poison... vomit..."

Then he sped away. Gloin immediately ran back and woke up Gimli to see what they could do.

Dwalin sped down the corridors to the infirmary.

"Oin?" he asked, not even panting. He stormed in and was surprised to find quite a few healers, standing about.

"Gryel had a heart-attack," Oin explained, "But is much recovered. What is the matter... is your wife..."

"Pearl," Dwalin gasped, "Poisoned."

"Fetch her here," Oin commanded, "Quickly. I will come with you. I must find out what releases the poison and for that she must come here."

"The shortcut," Dwalin suggested.

"Aye," Oin agreed, "The shortcut."

They ran, and found Gloin and Gimli guarding the open entrance in a state of panic, brandishing their axes and whoever dared come near, despite the fact that the poisoner had done his work a long while ago.

Oin immediately rushed in. He felt Pearl's forehead and listened to the baby before declaring that Pearl was not in grave danger. Looking grimly at the slime in the washbasin he ordered Pearl be taken to the infirmary, and so Dwalin scooped up his wife and ran off promptly.

Gloin and Gimli were sent to wake up all the dinner guests and make sure they were all right... and send them to the infirmary just in case.

Malin ran behind Oin and Dwalin, keeping the pace as they took the shortcut.

* * *

><p>Balin breathlessly approached the royal chambers and found it alight.<p>

Kili rushed out at that very moment,

"Amad, " he said, "She is sick, send for Oin, quickly!"

A guard was quickly dispatched and Kili started to follow him,

"Stomach flu?" Balin asked, turning to Kili and grabbing his arm.

"Yes," he said.

"Pearl has it too," Balin said, "They shared wine."

"Oh no!" Kili's eyes went wide. His face was white.

"I'll go with you," Balin said, but when they arrived, they found Oin tending to Pearl who was quickly put on one of the beds.

"Dis too," Balin said, his chest heaving because he had outrun both Kili and the young guard.

"Bring her here!" demanded Oin.

"I'll go with Kili," Gimli said, and Balin stayed. He sat in a corner and took and accepted a glass of water from Tagh. Elekh glanced at Oin, who nodded. She then headed off with Gimli.

* * *

><p>Dis was in a bad state, a really, really, really bad state. It was terribly serious and she was howling, absolutely shrieking in pain. Thorin was trying to help her, and Rugre stood by ready to do anything, though she knew not what. Urla was in the pantry, hurriedly making up a tonic that Dis had ordered and Fili was rushing about lighting all the torches. Guards and servants were in a frenzy.<p>

Dis gagged and gagged, but couldn't expel the poison that was churning in her belly. It was so bad she nearly passed out from the gut-wrenching pain, and was screaming, of all things, for her husband.

"ARRRRRrrrrgh," her voice rang as she felt the bile rise in her throat. Her black hair was heavy with sweat and Thorin's arms were about her.

"You'll be all right," he tried to say, "Namadith, please... drink water..."

"Mahal!" Dis yelled, bending over as she knelt on her bed and folded over, writhing in agony "Beilli, Beilli, I'm going to see you soon."

Thorin sighed. He was never a good substitute for Beilli.

"I cannot lose you, sister," he mumbled gently in Khuzdul, and starting thumping her back with heavy blows to aid in the vomiting.

"Stop that!" Urla appeared in the door with a pot of tea, "Not like that!"

Thorin looked up and blinked at being ordered but immediately stepped aside to take the teapot for Urla. Urla jumped to Dis's side, pushed back her head and slapped Dis quickly before pulling Dis's mouth open and reaching with her fingers to press the back of Dis's throat to induce vomiting.

Only Dis, half unconscious, bit firmly down on Urla's fingers.

Urla jumped back in pain, but Thorin quickly pried Dis's mouth open with his enormous hands and released Urla's pained fingers.

"Like this?" he asked the pale lass as he tried the same thing, and was promptly chomped on as well.

"Ah!" Thorin snapped and cursed in Khuzdul.

"Let me help," offered Rugre, stepping forward. Thorin held Dis's mouth open and Rugre stuck her fingers right to the back. Urla clutched her bruised fingers and moved to sit on Dis, who was struggling.

"Let go now," Rugre quickly exclaimed, "She is gagging."

As soon as Dis was freed, Urla jumped out of the way. With a loud groan, Dis leaned over and let loose a yell. All manner of food and drink gushed out of her mouth.

All over the bedcovers.

All over the blankets and pillows.

All over Thorin.

All over Urla.

Rugre was spared, having leaped to get water.

Dis then collapsed backwards, breathing heavily and shrieking.

Then Elekh, Kili, and Gimli arrived.

With practiced efficiency and profound strength, Elekh lifted Dis off the bed and Kili took his mother's middle, and Gimli took the feet.

"Oin says come to the infirmary," Elekh announced, "He needs to find the anecdote and monitor their condition."

"Right," the King agreed as he ignored the pungent splatters on his nightrobe, "I'm coming."

"If you please, sire" Elekh said, "Best to change first. I need a sample of as much of the vomit as you can manage."

"I'll do that," Rugre said.

Thorin nodded dumbly. The pain on his fingers was starting to throb and he looked at them in amazement... if had been many long years since he had been bitten by Dis.

She meant the world to him. And she had nearly died. Now, however, Dis was in good hands and she looked noticeably relieved. It was time to clean up.

* * *

><p>Fili was outside the room, and followed Gimli, Elekh and Kili in only to have to back out again to allow Dis to be carried away.<p>

"I'll come now," he said.

"No, wait," Thorin called out, "Come in here a moment."

Ugh. The room was disgusting and smelled putrid.

"You will be of no use in the infirmary," Thorin reminded him, "Let Kili go."

Everything in Fili's gut told him to run after his mother but he stayed. He would later be grateful to Thorin for making him stay.

"I'll get the servants..." began Fili.

But Thorin was already pulling sheets off the bed with one hand, and gave him a strange look.

"Come here and do it," Thorin commanded, "Help me pull the pillowcases, off."

The action must have hurt in Thorin's hand because he immediately gasped and pulled his hand away.

"Uncle, you're hurt!" Fili exclaimed. Then he noticed Urla was, as well. In fact, Urla's hand looked like had swollen to twice its size. She in the corner, trying to wash it, biting her lips in pain.

"I am fine," Thorin gritted his teeth, and then glanced at Urla, "You'd better take Urla to tend to her hand, no doubt the healers are busy and she knows what to do."

"I do," Urla agreed.

Rugre spoke up,

"Let me clean up, majesty. The servants will take care of it. You change and have your hands tended and go to Dis."

Thorin pulled last blanket off the bed, rolled it up and carried the bundle of the room, following Fili who was trying to help Urla, who had given in to the immense pain of her crushed fingers and gave crying. Fili took Urla to the kitchen, and Thorin dumped the sheets in the laundry room before speeding to his own chambers to change.

"There, there," Fili soothed her as he grabbed his own salve for bruises and cradled her shoulders. His large hand clutched around Urla's fist and she stiffened, "You'll be all right."

Urla bit her lip and relinquished the blue hand to Fili, trembling and shutting her eyes tightly and he clutched it with one hand and used another hand to pour a pitcher of water over it.

She buried her face in his shoulder, shaking from fright and discomfort. Fili only felt terribly, terribly worried at this point - for his mother, for Urla... He forced himself to keep pouring water, and then to take the hand and slowly lather it with soap. Every movement was an agony for Urla.

"I've got to check for broken bones," Fili murmured, "Amad must have bitten you hard, there."

Urla smiled a little with Fili's chuckle, and she let him put salve on and bandage her hand.

"There now," Fili exclaimed as if he was talking to a child, "All done."

Urla nodded,

"Thank you," she said in her quivering voice.

"No," Fili corrected her sincerely, "Thank _you_. You hurt yourself to save my mother. Thank you."

At that moment, something inside Fili swelled up that he could not control, and he suddenly lifted his hands from Urla's shoulders to bring them up through her hair to the sides of her head, and grasping her head, he bent down and kissed Urla's forehead.

It felt so right... so good. His blood rushed to his ears and Fili saw stars as time slowed... and then Urla gasped. She stepped back from him, wide-eyed in shock and Fili's heart sank. He had frightened her... Oh Mahal. He felt the world about him dropped and he hated himself for not having more self-control and ruining any chance he had with her. Big tears formed in Urla's eyes...

Urla's arms crossed over herself protectively, with her injured hand protectively kept in position.

"I'm sorry," Fili burst out, utterly chagrined. He then stammered, "Urla, I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to... I didn't want to take advantage of me."

He looked away and wanted to hit his face on the wall..

"I'm an idiot!" he growled at himself, as Urla backed away.

He did not stop her as she retreated out of the kitchen.

Stupid, stupid, thing to do.

Fili kicked the wall, then suddenly remembered his mother. His pulse quickened, if it could after the excitement he had experienced just moments before...Right. It was about time they went to see Dis.

Rushing out of the kitchen, he bumped into Urla who was heading to her room, her cheeks bright as beetroot.

"Going to see Dis," Fili muttered, looking down. Suddenly he felt a small hand reach for his,

"I'll come with you," said Urla quietly, concern in her voice.

Fili didn't know what Urla thought of the kiss. There was no time for that, now. Now was the time to make sure his mother was still alive. By the look on Urla's face, she was only thinking of that, which was just as well, which was better than thinking about other things.

* * *

><p>"Out! Out!" Oin yelled at the throng, "Husbands, cousins, brothers, nephews, sons, sisters, daughters... Everyone except healers... OUT! Including you, Thorin, LEAVE! I mean it! By Mahal, clear this place at once!"<p>

Oin had a loud voice, a powerful voice. And he had heard. Reluctantly, all bystanders, pronounced poison-free, were banished from the infirmary. For one thing, Gryel needed to rest and recover.

"Ale?" Elekh grasped Ale's hand, "You should stay. It may be... may be his last night. He needs the rest."

"No," Ale paled.

"Might be," Elekh said, "There's a slim hope left, but you best be here."

It was going to be a difficult night ahead.


	17. Chapter 17

AN: I hope the last chapter wasn't too gross (?) No more puking in this one, I promise. But lots of tears, sorry 'bout that but it had to be cruelly done for storyline purposes ;(.

**Chapter 17**

As the crowd that had gathered outside the infirmary dispersed, over-excited and yawning dwarves reluctantly made their way back to their own beds. Dwalin lingered, and had to be pulled away by his brother. Malin asked Ale is she was needed to stay, but Ale declined.

"We will come and see her first thing in the morning," Balin promised his brother as heavy lines creased Dwalin's forehead, "Sleep well, she is already sleeping and so should we."

"She will be just fine in Oin's care," Malin agreed.

"You can have your axe back," Balin handed it to him. Dwalin took it, but he was listless.

"Oin said to pop in _after _breakfast," Malin noted to her brothers as they took their time to linger in the corridors and walkways of Erebor, beautiful as it was in the stillness of night.

* * *

><p>"Come, Urla," Fili took Urla's hand. She had gone silent and still. Her hands her cold and clammy and she was pale, "Amad is all right, she will be scolding us in the morning, wait and see."<p>

Urla was silent, and Kili came up to them. One look at Urla, who was clearly going to burst into tears any minute, made him worried.

"Nadad," he signed to Fili, "She is not well."

Fili signed back,

"I know that."

Kili shook his head. He was always the more empathetic of the two,

"Parents, carried in, died."

He looked dead serious.

Fili's eyes widened.

"What... to do?"

Kili signed,

"Uncle?"

Then they both glanced anxiously around, but Thorin was nowhere to be seen. Rugre hadn't even come with them, having much to clean. It was quite a walk back and they feared Urla might collapse or burst into hysterical, uncontrollable, crying as she sometimes did.

Their questions immediately faded and Urla didn't seem to notice or hear either of them. She was as if in a haze of memory, and was starting to walk back into the infirmary...

Kili rushed and grabbed her,

"Urla, come," he said in a low, gentle voice, "We need to go back to bed."

Urla blinked back tears and he cradled her shoulders like Dis was wont to do, "Mother is fine. Oin said so. She's in no danger, you won't lose her... not like... ahem."

Obviously this touched a nerve, because after the excitement, Urla felt weak and succumbed to her worries, especially because she was in the same place as when...

"Come, let's go home," Kili said, and started to lead her away.

Fili followed close behind, nervous and unsure what to do. Kili, he knew, was just as unsure. Only more bold. If Dis were here... but she wasn't and they had to handle Urla on their own, now.

Urla walked about ten steps and then suddenly stopped. She looked straight ahead as if seeing something, like a ghost in front of her... but nothing was clear. Her mind was confused and hazy at the moment, not to mention extremely overtired.

Kili decided to pick Urla up like she was a child and carry her back. All the while she was silent and trembling.

Arriving in their halls, it was discovered that all the servants had gone to bed, except Rugre. Rugre was waiting for them with hot tea. She caught sight of Urla and paled.

"Come, let's go to bed, Urla," Rugre said, "Bring her, Kili."

Kili carried Urla into her room and Rugre followed closely behind.

"I'll stay with her tonight," Rugre announced, and shut the door.

Outside, Fili and Kili looked at each other worriedly. Dis usually did this... she stayed with Urla throughout her... _episodes_. Nightmares, traumatic memories, waking up only to realize that her past life was no more... this happened to the bravest and strongest of warriors even after a heroic victory. They had gone through that, after recovering from their battle injuries with only the healers to tend to them.

No, Fili _not _want to talk about that period of his life. It was over. Hopefully for Kili it was over as well, since he had had a beautiful, auburn-haired elf to be by his bedside and nurse him back to normality. Compare that to the mixed attentions of dwarf healers and, of all thing, an elvenking!

"Good night," Kili said stiffly.

"Good night to you to," Fili nodded, "And thank you."

It had been terrifying, the thought of losing Dis, seeing her in such agony. Fili dared not think, but knew quite well, he could have lost her. That disturbed him immensely, and he would not have much sleep that night. He suspected Kii would not

* * *

><p>"I wonder why..." Balin paused for a moment as they sat at the breakfast table. No one felt like eating much. They had all been sent back to bed but had been unable to sleep for worrying, though Oin had assured them that Pearl and the baby were no longer in grave danger.<p>

"I wonder too," Malin agreed, yawning, "Dwarves are not usually susceptible to poisons. Except in Dain's case... he is for one reason very poison-able."

"P'raps it was a strong poison," Dwalin suggested, "P'raps it was because she was with child."

"But Dis..." Balin pondered.

"Dis can't be!" Malin exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Balin promptly said, "Oin will have discovered the reason by now."

"Come, have an ale to cheer you up," Malin said. A servant hurriedly came near to serve him.

"I wonder how Ale is," Malin added sadly.

Dwalin glanced at the mug, with frothy, sweet, mead swirling inside... Pearl's favourite. He pushed it away and handed it to Balin,

"Yer can have it," he offered his brother, who accepted, though he didn't usually drink in the morning, "I should be drinking."

Malin looked up, "Hmm?"

"If Pearl can't drink I won't either," Dwalin decided, "We're in this together."

Malin and Balin exchanged glances. Two alcohol-deprived spouses would be bad-tempered and hard to deal with in the coming months.

Balin immediately thought of going on a long, diplomatic mission. Perhaps to the Shire, or Rohan, or some land far, far, away. But he squelched the idea at once - it would be too cruel to leave Malin here alone, or even the servants.

"We'll do this together," Balin decided, "We can drink water together for a couple of months."

"Agreed," Malin nodded, "We won't serve the Drink here. Pearl will feel better that way."

Balin thought, "Well, nobody said anything about my office."

"Thank you both," Dwalin nodded thankfully at them, "For this. For last night. I wouldn't have known what to do."

"That's what family is for, nadad," Malin waved his thanks away.

* * *

><p>Ale was gasping for air. She felt all the air leave the room and she was choking, struggling to breathe. Here she was, by her father's deathbed, all alone. There he was... gone.<p>

In the months... no... weeks, in which she between discovering her father and losing him, she had known all along that he was not long for this world. Gryel had lived a hard, hard life, not a completely moral one but a difficult one indeed. Still, up to the last hours before the fateful heart-attack, he had been his usual cheerful, cheeky self, running about with Ori trying to root out the infamous murderer.

"I have... I have so many things yet to ask you," she had tearfully mourned before the parting breaths, "So many things I do not know about myself."

Gryel's hands had started turning blue, but he was sentient.

"I love you, Ayel. I will wait for you in the halls of our fathers..." Gryel breathed, his words coming in short spurts now, "You don't need me,"

"I need you," Ale protested.

"Shh... I need rest. Tell Nori, tell Nori to make sure Otha is safe... and Drayr... Drayr is dangerous."

"I'll remember," Ale agreed.

"No, tell him as soon as possible, tell him in the morning," Gryel insisted, "Do not forget. And one more thing for me, Ayel, if that someone you love, _ahem, _and loves you, asks you to marry him, promise me you will accept."

"No one will ask me," Ale shook her head confusedly.

"Of course they will," Gryel scolded, then added tenderly in Iglishmek, "You are my beautiful girl, more precious than all the glittering gems of any mountain, than all the gold of Erebor... now promise me!"

The last three words he whispered harshly aloud. Ale could see his chest rise and fall with each breath, his strength sapping away.

"I... I promise, adad," Ale said. She had tears running down her cheeks and let go of his hand, which she held, to cup his cheeks and run his hair through his beard.

"Keep the runestone."

"I will, adad."

"Ayel," Gryel smiled, "My Ayel."

"Greet amad for me."

"Dear Srynja, yes. Bad, bad, lass..."

Ale smiled through her tears and leaned to give her father one, last hug. And then he was gone. His body went still and his small body sank into the bed. She wiped his face affectionately and smile. So beautiful.

* * *

><p>Pearl was weak, but awake. Dwalin went to her side immediately and she was saying something very earnestly to him and he was saying something back. Malin imagined they were discussing temperance and issues of that sort. Dis was asleep, but there in the corner, the quiet corner, sat Ale by Gryel's bed. He was gone - Malin knew that look. Another one of her occupations in the Iron Hills had been hospice, standing by the bedside of someone who was dying, like Lord Gror, Dain's mother Rena, and many others.<p>

Ale was laughing and crying. Clearly she had accepted...

Balin went up to her, and she set down the case of Gryel's hidden pipeweed in her hand to clasp his gnarly ones and say bravely,

"Thank you, Balin uzbad, without you I would never have met my father."

"There, there, lassie," Balin gave her a hug, "I did what anyone would do. The important thing is that he was happy. Did he manage to speak with you?"

"Aye," Ale said.

"I spoke with Gryel two days ago," Balin said, "He told me a great many things, but we'll get to them later. First things first, I think Nori would like to pay his respects before the hour is too late."

"Aye," Ale agreed, "He worked with my father a great deal, perhaps more than I did."

"Don't punish yourself, don't regret now," Balin said sternly, "Look at me, Ale. Ayel - It will never do any good."

Ale nodded weakly, and Malin came over to give Ale a hug as well.

Soon Nori was sent for and arrived, looking chagrinned. Ori was following him.

"I should never had overworked him, let him scurry about the mountain so much," Nori sighed, standing Gryel's bed.

"He was... happy, I know he was," Ale said between sniffs, "He was proud to be doing good, sir. It redeemed him, I think."

"Yes, stubborn old dwarf," Nori agreed.

"He said to tell you, to tell you that Otha must be kept safe and that Drey was dangerous," Ale relayed the message, clearly understanding none of it.

"Drayr?" Nori nodded, "Aye. Thank you, Gryel. We won't let them get Otha, either. I promise."

Nori was clearly more emotional than he was letting on. Gryel for him represented a father he never had. Nori had always imagined his father to be a criminal of some sort.

"Need I say you shouldn't be working for awhile, Ale?" Balin spoke up, "Take your time, stay in our halls."

Ale nodded, speechless. She felt so loved, that even though she was just a servant, a lady's maid and nothing more, so many people were being more than kind to her.

Balin whispered to Malin, "If she wants, we might send her to the Iron Hills to work, a fresh start and all that, in time."

Malin stared back at him in dismay, not wanting to lose Ale.

"It's just a possibility, we'll cross that waterfall when we get near it," Balin quickly assured her.

"_Bridge_," Malin corrected, "Cross the bridge when we get to it."

"Aye, right you are." Balin nodded.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Balin stood politely if not uncomfortably by Pearl's bed. He felt... that he ought to be there. However, he also felt out of place, since Pearl and Dwalin were talking earnestly to each other and... not to him.

Obviously.

Why would they have anything to say to him?

Pearl was crying about something. She appeared relieved, tired, happy, and yet also guilty. Balin tried not to stare at her too much, and also kept any eye-rolling to himself. Female-folk and their many, conflicting and passionate emotions were simply No, he preferred the intellectual types, not the hearty touchy-feely types like... Dis. Pearl, when compared with most of her fellow dwarrowdams, was rather a stiff, unemotional and un-excitable creature. Still, by Balin's standards... well, what did he know of females? Precious little.

Malin was busy with Ale, having already spoken to Pearl and answered all the inquiries of a domestic nature. She did not seem to have resented the underlying tone in Pearl's voice, as if she expected the _their _halls to be badly managed in her own absence. Then again, Balin thought he might be over-thinking things. Still, _that woman... _

Presently, Balin felt like he was intruding, but he tried to avoid appearing unengaged, lest he be called over to engage in conversation with Dis, who could wake up at any moment...

Balin instinctively felt the proper time for making a call was past, a quarter of an hour precisely. To linger longer would seem untoward, not for Dwalin, of course, but for himself. It would only be expected for Dwalin to stay and inconvenience the healers for as long as possible; anything less would be seem by females as lack of devotion.

There was one place where Balin felt uncomfortable - in a sick-room.

Balin turned and left the infirmary, noticing that Bofur and Bifur were wandering just then. With a nod to them, he went with a heavy heart to his office.

Amongst the many maps in Balin's possession, he had recently acquired one of potentially great value. From Gryel, in fact. In their time together Gryel had relayed to Balin what he knew of his own thieves' hoard, that which Ale's mother had participated in accumulating and that which she had kept from him. Gryel had a very quick mind, and had, with Balin's help, pieced together a map that disclosed the potential location of a great hoard of treasure on the outskirts of the Grey Mountains. He had left the map with Balin, to do with as he pleased. It was a dangerous hoard - many of dwarfdom's most vicious criminals knew of its existence and many treasure-hunters would attempt its discovery... but it remained hidden.

Surely, Balin mused, Srynja would not have died before passing on the key, somehow, somewhere. Surely the answer lay in the Blue Mountains, half a world away.

Balin folded the roughly-drawn map Gryel's memory, along with notes he had taken from Gryel - these he sealed in an envelope and relegated to a safe place amongst his more valuable documents. He had a distinctive sense of order and value, something that Epher helped maintain amongst Balin's many papers. Relatively unimportant (and perhaps distasteful) documents, like treaties with the Greenwood domain and its elven king, could be relegated to his bottom shelf. _Important _things were near, close at hand, ready to be poured over at any spare moment.

Ah, yes. Balin was having a very manageable day. He did not of days as being good or bad, as having positive or negative qualities. If this was so, he would have to lower his standards for "good days" quite considerably. No, Balin thought of days as being manageable or unmanageable, that was the least he could manage, having a kingdom to keep running.

* * *

><p>"Is... she... asleep?" inquired the king carefully.<p>

"I made sure of it," Oin rubbed his hands together. Thorin knew what he meant. Oin often used hydrates of some sort to knock out troublesome patients; it made his difficult job that much easier.

With a cautious glance through the entrance of the healing-rooms, Thorin allowed Oin to enter before him.

"I will keep Dis under observation," Oin said, "But of course with your permission."

"How long?"

"Two days at the most."

Thorin paused, "Are you sure that will be enough?"

Oin glared at him, "Quite enough for me, Thorin. Two days. You have two days."

Thorin nodded with a small sigh of regret. The longer Dis could be laid up, well, the better for him.

"And I need permission for the treatments as well," Oin added, holding up his ear-trumpet. Thorin had made it clear, almost a decree that he would not allow Oin to practice medicine without having it on hand.

"Yes, do whatever is necessary," Thorin had his hands folded behind his back, "Make a thorough job of it."

Oin stifled a chuckle. Thorin was never a rambunctious joker, but he knew how to be naughty in his solemn, commanding way.

"Then of course I will administer the flushes," Oin confirmed conspiratorially, "One, two, enemas a day."

"As many as you think necessary," Thorin waved his hand dismissively, "You are the expert in these matters."

"Three then," Oin added without hesitation. Dis was sometimes, quite often in fact, a pain in the nether-regions. Thorin probably sought revenge for his chomped fingers. And Oin, well, he was always up for mischief.

"I shall take my leave,"Thorin nodded, "We have a poisoner to find."

* * *

><p>Nori spent a great deal of time in the infirmary that afternoon. He had not just come to offer his condolences. Thorin had sent for him first thing in the morning, briefed him on the events of the previous night, and sent Nori to discover what he could from Oin, Dis and Pearl. The incident had unnerved the king more than he realized, and it was important that Nori track down the culprit.<p>

"Sit down, sir," Elekh nodded to Oin, who looked visibly fatigued, "Does no good to have you sick either..."

Oin gratefully accepted a cup of hot tea and leaned back. Tending to the infirm, over one night, was just too much excitement for him. Granted, Oin was as stout and strong as ever, but many, many hours of standing and walking and working would tire even a much younger dwarf.

Nori saw Oin sit, and came over.

"From what Pearl tells me," Oin said, fiddling with the pipe in his pocket to stuff and light it, "I do believe it has been Riddleweed extract that was in the glass."

"Was it... meant to kill?"

"Kill?" Oin shook his head, "No. Only to cause, with maximum effect, a great deal of abdominal pain."

"Indeed," Nori nodded thoughtfully, "Now we must find who did it, and who it was intended for."

"Been to the hall, yet? Found anything?"

"I've been there," Nori agreed, "But there was a great deal of washing already done, and nothing I could find. No traces of any poison. What does Riddleweed do? Is it used frequently?"

"Aye," Oin nodded, puffing his pipe with one hand and holding his ear trumpet up with the other, "Riddleweed extract is used in almost every household, for surface wounds like burns and cuts... not for internal consumptions, though it is relatively tasteless, not bitter of anything like that, easy to mask in a glass of wine. Ask Elekh for a sample..."

"Thank you," Nori nodded.

Dis was awake soon, and gave an account to Thorin, who had come to interviewher, and Nori, who stood silently by.

"I was a fool," she grinned, "Nearly bit your finger off, did I? Nadad, sorry about that. But I didn't order a drink, so when a servant passed me at the table with a drink for someone else, I just nicked it off his tray."

"Which servant was this?" Nori coughed and asked.

Dis screwed up her forehead,

"Brown beard, quite young. Serves our meals quite regularly. I gave him a flirty wink, I think his name was Naer."

"Do you think he would remember this particular glass?"

"I think so, it was some special wine. I had tried everything else already, and it was blood red and looked tempting. Different... I don't know what it was, I was never very particular about drinks, just wanted to have fun, you know."

"So you just took it," Thorin glared at Dis, his voice dangerously low, "Without asking."

Dis shrugged. She didn't have much else to offer. Thorin made up his mind to speak with Oin and give him an _absolute _free hand when it came to treatments. And Oin, given the opportunity, could indeed make a patient experience a great variety of treatments - not just enemas, but cold water drenches, bloodsucking sessions... he took great pleasure in them, to be perfectly honest.

Nori interviewed Pearl alone. She was very robust and had almost fully recovered, having consumed only a very _little _of the poison. Pearl's account was simple, though she knew more about the wine in question.

"I know what it was," she nodded, "Mirkwood wine, without a doubt, not very popular amongst us. I like it myself, because it's strong. Dry in one's mouth, except for that queer taste I detected. It wasn't a very good variety of Mirkwood, being less fruity but quite full-bodied..."

"And how did you come across it?" Nori questioned,

"I told Oin," Pearl sighed regretfully, looking down, "I was sitting next to Dis, and she had taken a glass. She didn't drink much, and left it next to me when running off to dance. I think there was singing, and no one was looking at me, so I stole a sip."

"I see," Nori nodded, "So whoever it was that tainted the wine did not intend to poison you."

"No, of course not. I poisoned myself. Got to lay off the drink for good now, until the baby comes."

"And is the baby well?"

"Thankfully, as well as can be. Mahal is good."

* * *

><p>Tugin, the Beverage Master, offered Nori a little more aid. He looked extremely chagrinned, poor old fellow. A rather round and pleasant dwarf, gentle, and a great expert in wines. He made, sold, and practically breathed beverages.<p>

"The bottle in question," he scurried about the wine cellar, "Here it is."

Nori looked at the corked, half-empty bottle in disgust. It brought back unpleasant memories.

"Not many asked for it," Tugin offered, "I brought a large variety up to the halls, to serve. Mead, finished. Ale, finished. Mirkwood wine, mostly untouched."

"Could anyone have tampered with the wine?"

"The other servants, perhaps," Tugin acknowledged, "The casks and bottles were all stacked in the next room with the food, with plenty of folks going in and out."

"Only servants?"

"Oh, no. Some, like Mister Dwalin, he comes in to fetch his own drinks at times. Prefers to sniff the casket and such."

Nori nodded. Then he took the bottle and examined it.

"I will bring this for examination," Nori said, "Are you sure this is the one?"

"Positive," Tugin nodded eagerly.

"And you poured out a glass?"

Tugin nodded,

"I took the order, then poured out only one glass, put it on the tray, and gave it to Naer who was about to bring it to... I think it was the prince."

"Dark or light haired?"

"Dark, I believe."

"Ah, Kili. He requested it?"

"Yes, from me."

"Was the tray always under your surveillance?"

"Yes," Tugin nodded vigorously, "I mixed several drinks to bring to the headtable at once. I was about to take the tray when Naer, a young royal servant, offered to lighten my load. He helps lift cask and such, kindly lad he is."

"You do know," Nori looked at him, "That you are presently the suspect? Unless, of course, the winebottle was already poisoned."

"Can't be," Tugin shook his head, "I opened it, drank some to make sure it was up to standard, and poured a glass for the prince."

"That is satisfactory," Nori remarked,

"I didn't do it," Tugin shook his head quietly, "I don't understand how it happened."

He looked genuinely grieved. Here was a dwarf who lived amongst barrels, caskets and winebottles, and Nori felt a little sorry for the old fellow whose careful, loving work had been disrupted.

* * *

><p>"No, none," Oin sniffed the bottle, "I'm sure of it."<p>

Nori took it back. The infirmary was abuzz with visitors now. An undertaker had come to take Gryel away, and Dis was making quite a fuss about wanting to be discharged.

"I have the servant in custody," Nori said in a low voice, "He did not pour the drinks and carried a tray of them including the wine that Dis took, that had been meant for Kili. The King and I will speak to him tomorrow, after he has had a day to recover. Clean passed out, he was when he found it. Drank a large amount of leftover beer."

"Let me know how I can help," Oin yawned, "I'm going to the side room for a few winks."

"Thank you," Nori nodded. He was stretched to the bone, what with prostitutes, rogue guards and dining servants to interview and track down. Furthermore, his wife Lallek had not spoken to him since he had come home after disappearing suddenly, which made for a very tense home situation. Ori and Fona, their resident murder suspect, had grown quite close and were tring to patch things up between them, with little success.

* * *

><p>"Ters, at your service."<p>

Ale stood and bowed in reply. This was an affable young dwarf, a complete stranger. Her eyes were red and she could barely speak.

"I am the undertaker," Ters said quietly, "Come to introduce myself, first of all."

Ale felt a little panicked, but Elekh sat her down.

"Ters is here to help you decide what to do next," Elekh said soothingly, "And of course if you'd like more time, or someone else to arrange things for you..."

"No," Ale said, "I think I can do this now."

Ters blinked. He had a rather... difficult line of work. It had come from his father, really. They arranged burials, made coffins, prepared the... dead. He didn't mind it at all. He glanced at Ale, sincere, attentively and sober.

Still, he couldn't help think about what a pretty lass this was. He usually did not work with lasses, as bereaved males usually were left with the task of negotiating with the undertaker. Ters had buried many females, but here was a live one. Ale had not slept all night, and had a rather drawn and colourless expression on her face, but to him, and here he gulped at the thought, she appeared very good-looking indeed. And she had his completely sincere sympathies. Sometimes Ters had to manufacture sympathetic looks and supportive words of encouragement to keep the business in good shape - not today, however.

Yes, she wanted it low-key. Gryel led a simple life, he would have a simple but respectable burial, not ornate. He would be buried in Erebor in a decent, ordinary lot, which was as much as the maidservant could afford. He had little in terms of possessions, but of course they went entirely to her. The Ereborian mourning ritual would be followed for the ceremony - Ale did not expect many would attend.

Of course. she would be surprised at how many dwarves came to pay respects to the old barrel-maker. His name and occupation was carved into Gryel's grave-stone. Balin, Dwalin and Malin were there, and Kili came quietly as well. Bofur, Bombur and Bifur came. Frar, Floi and Grof attended as did Oin and all the healers, not to mention Ale's and Gryel's acquaintances amongst the servants smiths and miners. What surprised her was that at the end, a lone miner approached her.

"I knew your father," he said simply in his northern, Grey-Mountain accent, "I was a friend, but not a... not a colleague. Not in that business. Knew your mother as well. Wruo, at your service, madam."

"Thank you," Ale replied sincerely. She was dead-tired and ready to retire, but she smiled thankfully at this talk, hulking figure and bowed low, "Ayel daughter of Gryel as yours."

"Your father led a long and colourful life," Wruo commented wryly, "I'd almost forgotten about him years ago, since he disappeared and was never heard of. Then, this morning, the funeral bans were announced in the meal-halls, and I was stuned to hear his name. Gryel son of Yrel. Would've heard of it anywhere."

Ale smiled and nodded.

"There are possessions of his, and perfects distant kin," Wruo went on to the say, "In the Grey Mountains. And there wouldn't be a butter-churn there that doesn't have his sigil, I'll be willing to wager."

"I've never seen any of his work," Ale admitted.

"My wife Ingred and her kin are coming to Erebor this summer," Wruo said in his friendly way, "I do believe they can bring a churn for you, to remember dear old Gryel by."

Ale thanked him sincerely, and then Malin came over and said it was time for bed. And so it was.


	19. Chapter 19

AN: I want to change the spelling of Dena. It's simple, and its the way Malin thought of her name. "Daena" seems more regal, and I invented this name, though after googling it seems to belong to the GOTh universe. To me, Daina, also pronounced the same, just makes her seem like a subsidiary of her (epic and awesome) canon brother. Tell me what you think!

I've also just watched BOFTA which means there is quite a bit of exciting new material to explore! My AU is different, in that before Thorin was cured of goldsickness, Balin, Dwalin and Oin forced him to drink a miserable concoction that half-restored his sanity but left him a changed dwarf. He did not reconcile with Bilbo until about a year later. Furthermore, the three royal Durins fell in the heat of battle in a similar way but did not die. Instead of succumbing to his wounds, Fili was seriously scarred, and later healed by Thranduil. Kili was saved from being stabbed by Bolg when Tauriel intervened, killing Bolg, who fell and injured Kili's brain giving him a concussion. Tauriel was pretty badly injured as well in a bruised-and-battered sense. So there, that's how I'm explaining my AU and the movieverse.

Chapter 18

_The Green Wood_

Thranduil crumpled the missive in his hand in an unusual display of frustration. Always, always, they misspelled and mispronounced his name. This smelt like an attempt by the Noldor elves to taunt him, laugh at the way they chose to live in the Green Wood. In all his thousands of years, the Greenwood King had been called _Thraindul, Thandrul, _and a host of other positively _incorrect _misnomers by wizards, elves, dwarves, and all creatures. Even his enemies sent incorrectly spelt rewards for his head. It was a crying shame.

But Thranduil's mind turned to other things and he discarded the paper carelessly into one of the burning lamps.

He had sharp ears, and knew from the distant rumbles in his forest domain that Legolas had returned from yet another one of his expeditions. Tauriel had probably stepped out to greet him, and no doubt the king would dine with his son tonight.

_Well then, _mused Thranduil, _we had better serve the white wine. _

Thranduil had a distaste for white wine, preferring only _red. _He had attempted for hundreds of years to curb Legolas's derivative tastes, but to no avail. This point of contention became something Thranduil chose to indulge his son's point of view in, rather than press his own.

He knew how the scene would play out. They would eat and drink in silence, Legolas would had nothing to report, or at least, nothing that his father did not already suspect or think of.

Thranduil's mind turned to other things. He knew Tauriel had become... restless... of late. More restless than was possible for an elf, even one of fewer years such as she. He knew of her romancing with the dwarf prince, foolish and fruitless though it was. Thranduil's silence on the matter, despite his intimate knowledge, betrayed his... soft spot... for the _elleth._ He wanted her to be happy. Legolas could always be satisfied with a skirmish or expedition or two, but Tauriel seemed to want something more, something beyond what the elvenking could provide. He thought that if Thorin Oakenshield knew of the affair, he would he grieviously insulted, and perhaps seek a war of retribution. One could never tell with dwarves...creatures so foul, who never ceased to amaze him with their short-sightedness, short-tempers, and short statures.

He had foreseen what would transpire with Tauriel centuries ago, and despite the distaste of dwarves he tried to encourage in his son and the orphan they both considered as close as family, he knew he was powerful to fight against fate. It was not so much out of personal distaste as it was a desire to save the red-headed ball of fire for whom he had such patiences and paternal fondness from the pain and misery of loving and losing. He had attempted to cultivate and acculturate both Legolas and Tauriel in his way of thinking, too little avail, for their opinions of dwarves, and, for that matter, the rest of the world outside of the Green Wood, stemmed from him and him alone. It would not endure.

Tauriel, of whom the elvenking was so fond, would be able to be kept in his realm for much longer. She had now fully recovered from the Battle, after two years, and would soon seek to leave. Thranduil knew that Legolas would agree with him on this one point - they would be sorry to see her leave.

* * *

><p><em>The Kingdom of Erebor <em>

"How are you, Gimli?" Ghiza asked as her son kissed her brow and and picked up his brother Gromli from the crib.

Gimli was pouting.

"I hate the harp." he sputtered, "Adad doesn't play one, I shouldn't have to learn it."

"It is an instrument of _royalty_, son."

"Fili and Kili... " Gimli protested "The princes do not. And our King _ha__tes _it. Adad says he was forced to learn it..."

"And if the king obeys his mother, so will you," Ghiza glared at him. Though she turned away and smiled a little smile to herself, remembering well what had transpired all those years ago. They had grown up close to the royal family, of course. Thorin was courting her sister, who happened to love harp music. He had hated it, of course, from childhood, until he found out the auburn-haired lass was impressed by it.

"Ah," Ghiza pointed out, "But lasses _love _harp music."

"And I hate lasses as well!"

"Gimli!"

"It's not that I hate them. I like them well enough, as friends. But not in any other way. Not like Floi and Grof, or Kili and..."

Gimli stopped himself.

"And who?" Ghiza sounded interested.

"Nothing, amad," Gimli shut his mouth firmly. He then paused, searching for something in the room to inspire a change in the conversation topic.

"Amad," he said slowly, "Why are there spots of Gromli's neck. Red spots?"

"Where?" the dwarf mother's concern was evident as she rose from her loom and reached for the babe.

"Here," Gimli pointed, and his mother paled.

"Mahal help us," she squeezed her child to her chest protectively, "Your brother... might be very ill, Gimli. Fetch Dis; she knows what to do with babies."

"What about Uncle Oin?"

"If he can live in the same house as Gromli and not see anything amiss... well, your uncle is completely incompetent with babies. The princess will know what to do."

"She is ill, amad."

"Shush, Dis could never be ill for more than six hours, not with two rascals demanding attention. You head over there and I bet you two weeks of harp lessons that she is bored and more than ready to come away."

* * *

><p>"Well, I wasn't expected you, dearest," Dis sat up. She had been bored. Kil, Fili, Rugre - they had all visited her earlier and told her about how things were faring in their halls. She was restless, now, and worried about poor Urla.<p>

"They wouldn't let me see you," Urla squeaked nervously, "But I _wanted _to come."

She stepped into the infirmary bravely, obviously having escaped when the rest where not keeping watch on he.

Dis nodded,

"Thank you, for everything."

She noticed Urla's fingers were nicely bandaged.

"I'm so sorry about your fingers... I should not have..."

"They will mend. Fili put salve on it last night."

"He did, eh? Washed it first?"

"Aye."

'Good lad. That's what I would have done. He takes after me... but how are you feeling?"

"I am all right! I really am!" Urla exclaimed, though her lower lip trembled, "I don't... I don't want them to see me as a weakling. I want to be... strong."

"But you were, you knew what to do and help me," Dis embraced Urla and felt her shivering, "You are _very _brave."

"I was never like this," Urla murmured, "I used to be perfectly capable, but it seems I cannot do a thing without collapsing. I don't know myself. I feel like a stranger to my own soul."

"Only to be expected, dear, but you'll feel more like yourself with time, plenty of time."

"I don't know how to help myself, what to do, I don't want to be a _bother_."

"You are not a bother!"

"I _am..._ Its so selfish of me to miss you, when Rugre has been so very kind"

"I will be home soon enough," Dis promised. Urla continued to cling to her, and Dis enjoyed the soft feminine embrace.

Then Urla felt better, and left.

Soon after, Gimli came running in.

"Aunt! Princess! Uzbad!" he waved his hands frantically, "Amad needs you at once. It's Gromli... I don't know what's... We need you...something's wrong..."

Dis glanced around tentatively. She had a bed near the door. If Ghiza wanted her, it was probably for good reason. Surely Gromli wasn't still teething? Or biting when being fed? Or... ill?

She sprang out of bed, night-clothes and all, and pulled on an ornate dressing robe.

"I'm coming," she announced, and though Meru the present healer-in-charge looked up, she did nothing to stop Dis.

Dis and Gimli flew out of the infirmary and for once the princess did not care that she was wearing bedclothes and her hair was undone.

* * *

><p>Oin had had a nap. It was a pleasant nap, one in which he had no thoughts at all. He was tired and exhausted, and felt guilty for being so. It was not uncommon for a healer, especially a dwarf healer, to work for hours and hours on their feet, four days being the average span, without tiring. Oin had done so in his younger days, but today was not that day. No, he had not slowed with age, either. Oin would not like to think that.<p>

He awoke with a start, and a pain shot through his head. He had missed his appointment with the Lady! Dain's sister was such a lovely, lovely female; Oin admired the solid bulk and grandeur of his North-Eastern relative. She had discovered him sunbathing on one of the balustrades, and had struck up a conversation that mainly centered on the intestinal, spiced, mincemeat puddings greatly savoured by their kin.

Oh, but was it too late to visit Dale with her? Thankfully, it was not. Oin hurried dressed his beard and scurried to the rendezvous point, at the front gate of Erebor, where she was no doubt already waiting for him. It was providential, thought Oin, that he should awake and remember his appointment at precisely the right hour

"Daena," Oin began breathlessly, and gasped when he fully registered what as before him.

In her full, glorious stature stood the sister of Dain Ironfoot. She was not dressed in armour, but very smartly indeed in riding-breeches studded with Iron. Her broad shoulders were accentuated by a heavy warg-pelt coat and she wore her beard in the manner of a male, as was customary for females during excursions outside of dwarf-dom.

"Oin," she acknowledged him, bowing majestically.

"You look very well," he commented.

"Thank you, so you do," she replied graciously, though Oin knew his knitted vest and cloak was nothing next to the very Dain-like ensemble before him. "Dress to impress" was Dena's motto and she assumed many roles, from a bejeweled hostess in velvet, to a battle-ready armoured warrior.

"I've taken a page out of His Majesty's style," she observed to Oin as they stepped onto the waiting ponies and made their way across to the city of Dale, "When one is in the West, one must do as the Westerlings."

Dena lowered her voice carefully. She was in fact playing the role of male, now that they would visit a city of men. She was modelling herself a little more on Thorin, though with visiting dignitaries she usually imitated her brother's manner.

"I see," Oin nodded knowingly. The impressive fur coat and iron-work did vaguely remind him of Thorin's style. Daena was being respectful of the styles and trends of Erebor, something Oin admired, though did not think was completely necessary.

"We are near," Oin pointed out.

"I should like to explore the city," Daena explained.

She had seen the city on the outskirts of Erebor, and thought it a very sensible arrangement. Balin had spoke of their agreements with Dale and she saw the sense in them. Dale seemed to her a exotic, magnificient ancient city of which she had heard much.

"We shall," agreed Oin, "But especially its markets. Perhaps we shall call on the King of Dale."

"Baird is his name?"

"Bard," Oin corrected her highland pronunciation, "He had three bairns. Two lasses and lad, though they are quite grown now. I forget sometimes how fast Men grow."

"You know them well?"

"Aye. I stayed with them for a time, in their Laketown home. Decent, honest folk they are, with the blood of kings as well."

"It is rare for a dwarf to find praiseworthy qualities outside our halls," Daena replied, goading her horse on, "I am eager to meet these friends of Erebor."

Oin smiled,

"The tale is long in the telling, but here we are nigh unto the gates. Let us hasten, and perhaps we shall have a wee bit of time before the sun sets."

"We intend to find ourselves supper in Dale, do we not?" Daena questioned.

"Aye, but not stay the night."

"I do not mind..."

"We can returned in the early hours of the morning," Oin suggested, "And before that, savour the wonders of Esgaroth in the night."

He glanced at his illustrious companion and thought himself a very lucky dwarf indeed.


	20. Chapter 20

AN: Do we live reading about elfses, preciouss? I wonder if including more relevant action in Mirkwood and Dale would be an improvement. This chapter contains content that may trigger trauma, so this is a warning.

Chapter 20

"Welcome Master Oin!" Bard threw open his door. Warmth and the smell of good food radiated from within, "Who might your illustrious companion be?"

"At your service, King Bard of Dale," Oin said as formally as he dared without arousing Bard's irritation.

"Daena of the Iron Hills at your service," Daena bowed. She threw her cloak back.

"Bard of Dale at yours," Bard replied and ushered them in, "This is Tilda, and Bain will be home soon. Sigrid! Come meet our guests."

Bard appeared to her a well-dressed, yet humble man. There was no doubt nobility in his lineage but the roughened hands of his, hands of a working bargeman, betrayed his true nature. Daena found herself admiring these people of Dale and the choices they had made in starting a new life.

"Were the markets to your satisfaction, Master Oin?" Sigrid warmly greeted her friend, "Did you find the ground bark you much desired?"

"Aye, but my cousin her said it has been tainted with acorn powder," Oin wrily shook his head.

Bard screwed up his face in concern as he followed the group deeper into his halls,

"I hope the trader is not dishonest?"

"No, I don't think so" Oin shook his head, "But the suppliers, I believe, have cheated him."

"I will look into it," Bard nodded gravely, "Much thanks to the keen eye of Lady Daena...sister o'Dain Ironfoot, I believe?"

"Aye." Daena nodded, "I see you've met Dain."

"Oh!" Tilda gasped, looking at her again with surprise..

"Aye, I am a dwarf-woman," Daena lifted her eyes at the young, merry lass, "Though when we travel abroad we shed our finery for more... practical attire."

"Have you come straight from the Iron Hills?"

"Aye," Daena nodded, "Rode here on a hog."

"Really!" Tilda's eyes went round. She had heard about Dain Ironfoot, though the illustrious Lord of the Iron Hills had yet to isit the city o Dale.

"I'm merely jesting, lass," Daena laughed, lifting her musical voice above the low reverberations she had used for several hours, "Dis invited me to stay in Erebor and I shall. And I rode a pony from Urad Zimrul to Erebor - we only use hogs for war."

"And what about rams?" Tilda bounced with excitement. She had grown in recent years and her limbs were long and lankier than when Oin first saw her. Oin glanced with concern at Tilda's odd movements - it reminded him of a peculiar disease of the bones...

"Do not let my bairn tire you with her questions," Bard sighed, "Tilda..."

"It is no trouble," Daena smiled, her eyes darting about the homely, yet grand, halls, "And yes, we ride a great many creatures in the Iron Hills, though Dain has not managed to acquired Oliphaunts for his ventures in the finer arts of breeding stock. Ram are excellent for steeper routes, though they have terrible tempers. I'd pick a bonnie mare over a horned beast any day."

"Do dwarves breed animals?" Sigrid ventured, curiously, "I thought..."

"We work largely in the mines and smithies, no doubt," Daena acknowledged, "But my grandfather Gror was a most practical dwarf. He knew that livestock and agriculture could prove as useful to us as iron ore and weapons."

"It is most unusual," Sigrid commented as Tilda ran in with spiced milk for the guests. Bain, who had ambled in quite exhausted by the day's labour, went to fetch some mead for himself.

"From what I learned of dwarves," Bain glanced out of the window at the Lonely Mountain's silhouette in the distance as he strolled in with three heaped mugs, "They work with gold, gems, stones..."

"They did in Erebor," Daena laughed, rubbing her large hands together and accepting both the flagon of mead and mug of tea, "But where Thror had rivers of gold, we had swarms of bees, herds of cattle, fields of wheat... as well as iron, steel and the like."

"I should like to hear of it," pressed Bain eagerly.

"Aye, lad. Perhaps I shall arrange for you to visit our domain. It is not far, and by far one of the most interesting sights to behold."

"I am sure we'd like to hear your tale of dwarven bee-keeping over supper, cousin," Oin waved his arms from the doorway, "But I am half-starved for young miss Sigrid's suppers."

"I smell herring," Daena sniffed, "And it is a good smell."

"We eat a great deal of fish, kippers, actually," Bard ushered his guests in, "Help yourselves, please."

* * *

><p>"This is a fine stone city, King Bard," Daena remarked as a mug of rich spiced milk were pressed into her hands. They were seated in Bard's marble-columned halls, wrapped in warm furs spread on cosy wooden benches. The marriage of wood and stone in Dale impressed her. There was the city's stone-work laid down by skilled ancestors, and then the loving woodwork and carvings of the folk who had lived their lives in the squalor of Lake-Town. The dual history seemed to be reflected in the many ornate wooden carvings that were fitted in the original, crumbling stone architecture.<p>

"Aye, thank you," Bard nodded, "Without the aid of our dwarf friends we would not have been able to rebuild the stone. Lake-town lies further down these waters, and it was completely of timber. Our people had long lost the art of masonry, and without the assistance of dwarves we would never have tried to make Dale into our new home."

"I should like to learn about this city," Daena's eyes brightened, "I have read of it."

"You enjoy reading?"

"Aye, when one is a hundred and eighty one has a great deal of time for what some consider a luxury."

"I only wish my children would take up such skills," Bard sighed, "We are of wood, water, and such simple stuffs, not the halls of kings."

"Bain is a bright lad," Daena glanced past Bard, "And much can be learned from experience as well as from books."

"You are very welcome to peruse our collection of books, lady dwarf," Bard smiled, "And see if you can interest my son in any of it. I do think there is an old tome concerning the management of bees, somewhere within the archives."

"I shall certainly look into it," Daena promised, "Seeing as Oin now wishes to remain here several days. I anticipated his change of mind, and brought a change of clothes."

Oin was upstairs, having borrowed a case of healer's equipment. He frowned at Sigrid as they uncovered Tilda's feet.

"What's the matter, Oin?" Tilda protested.

"Hush," Sigrid motioned.

"I just need to see yer ankles, lass," Oin said quietly, "Now stand on the floor and walk a little for me,"

Oin peered closely at Tilda uneven hobble and his brow furrowed in gravely.

* * *

><p><em>In Erebor...<em>

Otha peered out between the bars of her cell, watching Epher leave. A guard emerged, blocking her narrow view.

"Thank you," she mumbled listlessly at Epher who was out of earshot, and then sat back down on the carpet of rags that served as a bed. She fingered the scraps of paper - ciphers she had only just begun to learn to read.

A tear formed in Otha's eyes. She knew nothing; she had seen nothing. She did not think herself an intelligent person, and had nothing to contribute to the on-going case. Nevertheless, she had a gut feeling that she was not safe, especially not after someone had slipped into her pocket a note the day before when she was removed for an interview.

The scrap of parchment with its hastily written runes looked ominous, sinister, even. Otha needed to know what it meant. Thankfully, Epher the kindly bookkeeper, Balin's assistant, was more than willing to fulfil Otha's request to learn reading and writing. Out of all the people in Erebor besides Nori, Epher was the only one who was a least bit kind and sympathetic.

"What's that?" the prison guard demanded, marching back into the room swiftly.

"Learning to read, sir," Otha mumbled.

"I'll take it, thank you very much," the guard held out his hand firmly and insistently.

"Here," Otha sighed and gave it up, not a little thankfully, "Master Nori might find it useful in the case."

She would still learn to read and write, no matter if the note was with her or not. Reading held the promise of a better life.

"Indeed he will," the guard said, not in a friendly manner. He obviously didn't think much of the fallen 'dam.

What Otha did not notice was that he remove himself from the room briefly, moments later, to throw the parchment into the fireplace.

* * *

><p>Malin ran down the corridor as fast as she could.<p>

"Balin! Balin!" she cried, catching sight of her brother. He turned from speaking to a merchant, reacting quickly as he always did with a warrior's reflex.

"It's Gromli, Gloin's son," she burst out, panting heavily, "He has the Red Fever."

Balin's eyes widened and he hastened to Malin. The merchant next to him, a greyed fellow, looked equally concerned.

"We... we... must warn the mountain, lest it spreads." Malin's eyes filled with tears.

Outbreaks of the dreadful disease were common, and deadly. Dwarves came to fear the plague that killed all their young, over and over again. First pimly red spots appeared inconspicuosly under folded of skin, and then a scalding fever, seizures, and then no more. Only the youngest of dwarf-children could catch it, though anyone could spread it.

"How came he by it?" Balin demanded, "It is known, sister?"

"No, " Malin shook her head, "But how can we?"

"Come with me," Balin took her hand.

The merchant grasped Balin's shoulders,

"Uzbad, what must we do," tears filled his eyes, "I lost two of my sons to it and I will not lose my only grandchild."

Balin closed his eyes briefly and then lifted them to meet the taller dwarf's ones,

"We will do all we can. I promise you, we will do all we can."

* * *

><p>Gloin sat helplessly by, there was nothing he could do. There was nothing Ghiza or Dis or even Gimli could do but sit in the silence and listen to the child scream. They could not leave the halls; they could not go out. They could only sit, do what they little could, and wait out the fever. Few babies of this age ever survived a bout with the Red Fever.<p>

The usual din in Erebor's corridors had quickly been replaced with a deathly quiet. It was a sinister sort of silence, a silence of dread and expectancy. Doors were slammed shut and families, those with young ones and those without, slammed their doors shut, barricading themselves with stores of food against the plague. Voluntary isolation was the immediate reaction dwarves had to outbreaks, and perhaps it was for the best.

Within hours, Dwalin had retrieved his wife from the infirmary and locked themselves into the halls of Fundin. Balin and Malin had duties to attend to, people to help and matters to arrange; Pearl had to be kept from the Fever because unborn children and their mothers were vulnerable as well.

Gloin now wished his brother was here. True, Dis was a great help, having nursed several children to survive out of the many, many who had not. Since the great gates of Erebor had been sealed to prevent the fever's spread, Oin and Daena, stuck outside and unable to return, were forced to remained in Dale. Still, it did not inconvenience them to spend a few days eating and drinking for days at Bard's hospitality. However, if there was to be a funeral for his nephew, Oin would be unable to attend.

These were dark days under the mountain. Three infants throughout the mountain had caught the disease. Malin moved about the mountain by day and night upon her tired feet, knocking at doors and shouting news to the inhabitants within.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Ori, Fona and Lallek were locked up with Nori's baby. Nori knew that if he returned home, he had a great chance of infecting his son. Thus, he steered clear from it, hammering the doors once a day to hear an affirmative reply. He longed deep in his heart for the door open, to see his little one, but if the door opened then all hope would be lost. The door should only be opened if little Dhori came to contract the fever, and a healer sent for to be admitted.<p>

Now, Nori leaned wearily upon the door. Ori spoke to him from within.

"The baby is well," Ori shouted, "Fona and Lallek take him outside in the sun, to play. We have plenty of food for another week. Surely it will be over..."

"I will tell you when it is over," Nori replied just as loudly, straining to hear a cry or a laugh that reassured him that his son was well, and not in the same state as the two babes he had caught sight of, heard screaming, seen shrivel away so quickly...

"Nori!" he heard a desperate, familiar voice.

"Lallek," Nori pounded the door just once, "Are you well?"

"Well," she replied in a loud voice, though it wavered, "I miss you."

Nori's sharp ears hear the hushed second phrase and his heart ached with longing.

"I miss you to, my love. We will be well."

He could imagine her, leaning against the strong stone door, pressing her ears to hear his voice.

Nori breathed heavily, trying not to shed that lone tear that threatened to fall.

"Take care of yourself," she pleaded.

"I will," replied Nori, "I am in no danger, and there is much work to be done. I love you."

"I love you," her voice rang.

And then he left as soundlessly as he came.

* * *

><p>And then, as quickly as the plague had begun, it was over. All three dwarow children died and many cries resonated through the halls, for dwarf children are exceedingly few in number and much desired as well as cherished.<p>

Gloin made the stone coffin himself, every strike of the hammer on the chisel was unheard because of the great, aching stillness of his mind. Gimli his son, brave lad, stood by his side gravely. Their mother had woven a beautiful shroud of silver and gold tapestry. She wept greatly, and so did Dis.

They buried him silently and alone with the few who were out in the patrol. It was a grave, quiet ceremony. Thorin, Fili, and Kili were solemnly present as well, but there were no words anyone could speak that could alleviate the devastating loss.

A grander, more elaborate funeral was what would have been proper, with close friends attending, but they could not. Not until one more week had past and the three stilled bodies turned to the stone would it be safe for the mountain to emerge.

For three whole weeks the forges ceased to clamour and the mines ceased to ring with the grinding of axes. There were no feasts, no celebrations, only grim, silent waiting.


	21. Chapter 21

AN: I've changed Dain's age in my AU, making him around 190 instead of 166. Thorin is 197.

Chapter 21

Daena stuck her spoon into the porridge with a sigh of satisfaction. For a nearly a hundred and eighty years, even since she was weaned, Daena had begun every day of her life with a bowl of porridge. Until recently, that is. Since relocating to Erebor, the matronly dwarf had been most displeased by the state of porridge. Bread, meat, and all other intemperate and indulgent foods were eaten at a whim, and Daena was displeased to see that even Malin had adopted this Western style. It smacked of the influence of... of... elves?

Today, however, nothing could mar her happiness with the porridge that was so so perfectly prepared. Some younger folk sprinkled theirs with spices and sugars, but precisely prepared porridge required nothing but a pinch of salt.

"My compliments to the cook," she waved her spoon appreciatively at Sigrid. Truth to be told, Daena felt rather diminished by the large, stately home of Bard. Her feet dangled like a child's at the table, and the table was high.

"Tis not I," Sigrid shook her head, "Madghie made it."

"Tell her this is excellent, excellent," Daena's eyes rolled skyward in pure ecstasy

"Tilda hates porridge," Bain pointed out, and was promptly poked in the elbow, "Ow!"

"Makes you grow large and strong," Daena eyed the lass suspiciously, "It's good stuff, it is. Not too dry, not too wet... and Mahal forbid not burnt!"

"I'll tell Madghie," Sigrid smiled across the table.

"I'll tell her myself," Daena said, spoon the last delectable morsel into her mouth and pushing herself off the table. Dressed in a well-cut, yet sensible robe, with her hair dressed in its usual way, she appeared much more _female _in the eyes of Bard's children, which Oin knew spoke volumes of how much Daena was at home in Dale.

The hired kitchen girl was a friend of Sigrid's, and she was upon this morning in very, very high spirits, for the herring had been bought at a very good price and she didn't need to make bannocks today. In the kitchen, she swept merrily as stew bubbled, singing a cheerful song quite loudly with her strong voice.

"A bit strongly spiced, that," came a deep but not unfriendly voice from the door.

"I like things strong," admitted the lass, getting over surprise, "Madghie, at your service."

"Daena at yours. What's that cooking?" It smells a wee bit spicy for the bairns."

"It'll be good with scones for supper," Maghie suggested, "Bain has taken a great liking to my fish-and-lentil stew. Would you like a taste?"

She whipped a wooden spoon from her apron and held it hesitantly out to Daena, who set down her empty porridge bowl and pulled a chair over to the stove. Taking the spoon from Madghie with a nod, Daena dipped her spoon in the rich stew.

"Mm..." the steam clouded her vision for a moment, "This is nice."

"A little eastern," Madghie admitted.

"Are you of Easterling blood?" Daena eyed the lass critically.

She was stodgy, and not tall for a daughter of Men. Like some inhabitants of Laketown, Madghie was quite Eastern in appearance, with tanned skin and piercing black eyes. But Daena noticed something else as a well - a thin but noticeable line of facial hair on Maghie's cheeks and lip... was she... _dwarven? _At least partly?

"I dinnae know," Madghie accent was strangely mountainous, "I'm a foundling."

"Ah," Daena nodded, descending from the chair, "Bard is good king to have gainfully employed such a skilled cook."

"Thank ye," Madghie blushed, lowering her face not quite knowing what to say,

"I came to tell you that the porridge was excellent."

"Thank ye," Madghie stepped back slightly, a little intimidated by the dwarf.

She found this dwarf-woman strangely fascinating. Such a noble and important dwarf was not a common sight, only a feature of legend and myth. To have such an important creature not only in the kitchen with her, but tasting her soup and praising for porridge was a bit much for poor Madghie. She open and shut her mouth, eyes glazing over in their awkward focus.

* * *

><p>"I will have an elven healer look over Tilda, perhaps Tauriel herself when next she comes," Bard promised.<p>

"It is reassuring that a strong alliance has been forged between Dale and the Green Wood," Oin nodded perceptively, "Even if we cannot count the elves as friends, they are at least friends of yours, and thus friends of our friends."

Bard shrugged,

"What are men but the eternal peacemakers of Arda? We have no bone to pick with any kingdom, save that of darkness..."

"Tell her to look at Tilda's feet especially," Oin shook his head, "Fair creatures may be experts in their medicine but they walk with their noses too far above the ground."

Bard laughed; it was a carefree laugh such as if he had only recently been able to breathe deeply, richly, freely...

"And we must convince Daena not to rob us of our hired cook," Bard suggested, leaning forward to Oin's level and whispering conspiratorially...

"I have sharp ears, King of Dale," Daena approached the hearth where Bard and Oin were seated.

Bard shrugged, "Any news from the raven, Lady of Urad Zimrul?"

"More of the funeral..." Daena glanced hesitantly at Oin, whose shoulders slumped slightly, "The child had been turned over to the stone. We will return in three days. The king will send an envoy to meet with you, Bard, and then we depart the day after."

"How coincidental," Bard mused soberly, quietly as Oin contemplated the loss of his nephew, "I have visitors from the Green Wood at that same time as well..."

"We can change plans," Daena said quickly, a firm line of displeasure on her lips, "I will send for a raven..."

"No, no," Bard shook his head, "Leave them be. And as regards Madghie, you are welcome to have her in your employ, if she can be convinced."

"Easily, I think," Daena rubbed her hands together, "I will care for her as long as she lives, I promise you that. And I am to live a good seventy years more! She will be paid well and treated kindly. I need porridge, and my brother will not spare the expense."

"Is she to follow you back to the Iron Hills?"

"If she wishes," Daena shrugged, "She is free to come and go. I hear Madghie sews as well..."

Bard coughed,

"I would not put much hope in that. Sigrid prefers to do the sewing, though some say she ought to..."

"Let her be occupied," Daena nodded, "Servants are only to free us from some tasks to enable us to accomplish others. Sigrid would be greatly unhappy if she had nothing to do but idle her time."

"The children are a great help," Bard nodded, "But I do not wish for servants to run our lives..."

"I am sure you know what to do. A wise father if I ever saw one," Daena smiled, "And we share strong beliefs in gainful employment."

Bard blushed,

"A father, but not a mother. There are matters on which I am of little aid to my girls... or even Bain. I will be honest, I only know how to shield Sigrid from unwanted attention at present, but not an inkling as to... as to..."

Bard sighed. His burdens were his and his alone. Surely if he had managed this long (and surely teething and the pox were the worst of it), he would just get through whatever hurdles his lonely foray in the unexplored territories of parenthood would bring...

Bard changed the subject,

"Ah, so with the growing city, I sense the need to establish smaller agricultural settlements next spring. Food, grain especially, is expensive at present as it is brought in from a great distance..."

* * *

><p>Kili trotted with his hands in his pockets into the royal halls. It was a beautiful day. The sun had risen, figuratively of course, since in the mountain dwarves knew not of the sun and its times and rarely saw or felt it.<p>

"I do not think it necessary, amad," Kili complained over the fried trout at breakfast, "I am busy and Fili is well capable of..."

"Go as a group! Urla needs some fresh air, and I think my two princes should present yourselves to the King of Dale," Dis insisted, waving her hands dismissively.

"Uncle should go," Kili suggested. He glanced at Fili, who was his usual quiet self.

"Mmm?" Thorin looked up. He was not to be snatched away from the pleasures of fresh, fried trout at breakfast to be lured into a discussion.

"I'm sending Fili and Kili to escort Lady Daena back to Erebor," Dis said, "It will be a good excursion for Urla and I'm sure they'll take good care of her as well as make a good job of presenting the transports of gold to the King of Dale."

"How long are we staying?" Fili lifted the glass of tea to his lips, trying to graciously keep his beard from entering the cup.

"One or two nights. Bard will host you," Dis stated, then looked to Thorin, "I've arranged it all by Ravenspeak."

"Aye, do what you must." Thorin nodded dismissively and lifted his fork to spear the large fish once again...

"May I bring a friend? I think she would like a breath of fresh air..." Kili ventured.

Thorin looked up and Dis shot him a pleased look.

"She? A lass?" Dis's well-drawn eyebrows lifted.

"Ale. She needs to get out of the mountain, I think."

"Very thoughtful of you, Kili," Dis nodded approvingly, "You've been very good to her in her bereavement."

Kili shrugged.

There was silence, and eating. Thorin was about to savour the last morsel when,

"On second thoughts..." Dis glanced around the table and announced, "Your uncle and I will also make the trip."

Thorin dropped his fork,

"Wha-" he began.

"You need fresh air, nadad," Dis snatched his fork deftly and held it out of the way, "And I'm sure the King of Erebor himself should be present with the shipment of gold."

Fili and Kili looked positively delighted. _Bastards, _Thorin thought, then quickly swallowed the fish that was turning dry in his mouth with a gulp of (yuck!) tea.

"Please come, uncle," Kili was practically bouncing in the chair like he did as a child, "We could explore Dale... and see what the Lonely Mountain looks like from the highest tower..."

"If I go, the lads will not enjoy themselves," Thorin protested vaguely and desperately, glaring at Kili to "shut up".

"Nonsense," Dis returned his fork and grinned at him, "They want you to come... and furthermore, the mountain will take care of itself for a day. I want to do some _shopping._"

Thorin pouted. He was King Under the Mountain, and one of the perks of king-hood had to be that he was absolved from attending to Dis as she went on a spending spree.

Dis was giving him an innocent look that melted his heart. After all, she had just recovered from food-poisoning and had emerged from two long weeks of round-the-clock nursing, perhaps she deserved a break. And it melted his heart that she wanted to spend time with _him._

But the thought that convinced Thorin was that if he made any further move to oppose her, Dis's kitten-like expression would be replaced by the figurative drawing of claws...

"Very well," Thorin nodded. Then he stood from the table, the action which, as it always did, resulted in everyone at the table quickly rising to their feet in reverence. Thorin nodded and then marched quickly out of the room with what was left of his royal pride.

"There, that's settled," Dis shrugged, and then motioned for a servant to bring out the rest of the trout, "Can't have that old bugger finishing our delicious breakfast, can we? Come, Urla, dig in."

Urla looked up. She barely spoke at meals, but that surprised no one. In fact it would be rather surprising if she did.

"It's be great fun, Urla," Kili winked at her, and Fili added,

"Oh yes, you've never been to Dale. It will be quite splendid."

"Is it quite proper?" Urla ventured timidly at Dis. Visiting a town of Men did not seem to her a very proper thing to do.

"I used to visit Dale all the time as a lass," Dis started to tell one of her long stories, "Now, granted, Adad would sent a great deal of guards. Either Thorin or Frerin would have to come if Adad did not, and they followed me like a hawk. I brought along quite a few lasses as well, and we even stayed overnight once, in a _tavern _of all places. Ghiza and her sister were with me, and there was a flood or something of that sort."

Dis glanced toward the door through which Thorin had disappeared, lowering her voice,

"Now it was that very night your uncle decided to ask Ghiza's sister to marry him... I'll tell you the tale if you promise not to breathe a word of it in front of him..."

She enjoyed telling stories and this was a very good, and amusing story she had not told in a great many years, not after Ghizim died and the mountain was lost and no one wanted to tell stories any more.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

The King of Erebor leaned against the cooling, white stone wall to relax the weight upon his mind as his scurried from stall to stall. She just couldn't browse quietly, instead she chattered and chattered _expected _Thorin to listen and give his opinion (in confirmation of her opinion) from time to time. And Dis was not by any means thrifty on this particularly beautiful spring day in Dale. Perhaps it was the air, perhaps it was the excitement, perhaps it was her quick recovery from the tremours of the past weeks...

_Well, _sighed Thorin, _it isn't as if we haven't any gold to spend. _Then he jerked in surprise and confusion as gilded ostrich eggs were carried past him... _surely not? _

Dis tugged on her brother's arm,

"Are you hungry?"

Thorin pondered the question. He had had six eggs, fried not pouched, whole and not broken, with a large hunk of honey-cured ham this morning before setting off on the excursion. Dis had had only three eggs, and perhaps that was why, after five hours, she was starting to feel hungry.

"We can manage to find something," Thorin nodded, and looked around for Fili and Kili. They had disappeared in a buoyant, rambunctious throng, their little gaggle of youthful dwarves in which there was no room for a nearly-two-hundred-year-old king with his chronic case of grumps. Perhaps that was all for the best, because the King of Erebor hated the sound of giggling. Nothing grated his ears more than feminine squeaks and tittering. The cause of that was no doubt the result of living for several decades in the home of Dis, a sociable, outgoing female with the constant and irritating coming and going of other similar female friends. He had a strong underlying suspicion earlier on that Dis was trying to set him up with any one of her great number of friends (Thorin could never be quite sure _which _one) and he was not entirely sure Dis had let it go, even now.

"Shall I look for the lads?"

"The _princes,_" Thorin pronounced with emphasis, "Will doubtlessly find food when they or their companions require it. There is no famine here. Come, let us visit the baker of Stone Street. Balin had described their goods to me more than once."

"Very well," agreed Dis, and they set off. Numerous merchants bustled about them, preparing packages and packages of goods to be delivered to the halls of Bard, King of Dale, where the dwarves would join their companions.

* * *

><p>"My lord," Epher bowed, "A message for you."<p>

"Ah, leave it on the mantel, will you?" Balin tugged his lush, warm crimson robes about him. It was spring, but Balin always lived, at and dressed as though it were winter.

"It is from an old acquaintance of yours... she..."

"Oh?" Balin looked up from the long scroll he was proofreading.

"She needs to speak with you, that's all she said."

Balin paused, the weight and implication of the matter immediately clear in his mind. No doubt _she _had seen the King leave the mountain and seized the opportunity.

But he needed to be sure.

"What did _she_ say it concerned..."

Epher offered the note to Balin,

"I do not know," Epher said, slightly offended, "It was addressed to you..."

Balin nodded, "I'm sorry, Epher. I just wanted to know if she said anything else."

Epher smiled,

"If you need anything, I'll be in the next room."

* * *

><p>"What do you think of Dale?" Fili asked, looking around him with an air of difference for all but the lass he was addressing,<p>

Urla, on the other hand, was quiet enraptured.

"It's... captivating," she sighed, eyes wide and cheeks rosy. They were standing atop one of the highest towers. Fili looked away for a second and Urla quickly added, "Not that it's more amazing than Erebor, but I find the rubble to be so quaint and alluring, as if these cracked stones and defaced statuettes have such a story to tell!"

Fili tried very much with his unromantic mind to think why rubble and debris could be considered in another other light than a great inconvenience. He had, after all, spent weeks and months moving great masses of stone to repair Erebor...

"The wide open spaces, the wind in my face," Urla continued, squeezing Fili's arm appreciatively, "Thank you for bringing me here, Fili."

Fili gulped. He didn't quite trust himself.

"I always wished I had a big brother," Urla murmured a little happily and a little sadly as well.

Fili leaned back against the stone pillar, closing his eyes briefly, knowing by experience how calming they were for minor headaches. For heavier headaches, of course, stone offered the relief of numbness, provided one was tough enough to sustain a strong enough collision.

"I'm glad," he said at last, a little quickly to make up for the delay in reply, "That the sights here make up for the market..."

Urla glared at him with a little spirit,

"Fili! I was _scared. _It was _noisy. _And it's not as if I had any money to spend, in any way."

Fili only smiled and said,

"Of course you do. Plenty of coin. You're a Ward of the King now, aren't you?"

Just then, a raven flew past which reminded Fili of the great eagles, and he hastened to entertain a fascinated Urla with a tale of their great feats in battle, despite the fact that Fili had actually been wounded and unconscious by the time the eagles had entered the Battle of Five Armies.

Fili wanted to buy something for Urla, something bright and beautiful and pretty, just like she was. She, however, had a panic attack when they waded through the noisy growd of Market Street, and had to be taken to a tavern to be attended to with ale. Nevertheless, Fili would have some time later to do some shopping of his own.

* * *

><p>Ale was pale. No, really <em>white, <em>Kili decided, from too much grieving. Surely enough time had passed?

Today, there was no grief and if it was present, it did not serve to marr a second of the beautiful day.

Kili had come to the conclusion that Ale was a terrible shopper, truly terrible. Ale would be terribly interested in something, for example, a pair of shoes. She would try dozens of pairs, ask about prices and materials and seam quality, and haggle the price down to as low as it could possibly go, and then when Kili thought she was about to _pay for it and be done it, _Ale would sadly decline.

This continued for _hours._ Ale did not spend a single bronze penny, not one. She merely stared at things, talked about things and examine things closely, but never allowed herself to indulge in even one purchase. And of course, Kili could not insult the Independent Working Woman by offering to pay for something, anything, despite how his fingers itched and twitched. Ale _did _have coin, its just that she never spent it, except perhaps on food.

They had gone for the midday meal at a tavern. As usual, they did as dwarves always do and paid for their own meals. Kili ordered a pint of mead and a great, juicy, lamb steak, whilst Ale picked the cheapest things on the menu. After much consideration and deliberation, Ale requested refried vegetables ("Squeaky Frieds" as the barmaid called it) and sausagemeat. Kili looked at her plate and felt like puking. Being more worldly-wise, he suspected or rather knew that the sausages were stuffed with all manner of unusable meats, and the refried vegetables most likely scraped from half-even plates or even from the pig-bucket.

"I wouldn't eat that if I were you," Kili shook his head sternly.

"What?" Ale looked up. She was hungry and Kili knew it.

"It's gone bad!" Kili waved his hand and before Ale could say a word, he had shoved it back into the hands of the barmaid, asking for "Bangers and mash, or something palatable."

"No wait," Ale reached for it, glaring at Kili, "I want to eat that."

Kili signaled something subtly in Iglishmek and Ale backed down.

"All right," she said, relinquishing her plate, "Fried trout and potatoes."

"Better," Kili nodded, "Though there won't be a lot of trout."

Ale shrugged, dismissing Kili's concern.

"Surely our Lady Malin feeds you enough?"

"It isn't that," Ale sighed, "Of course she does."

"Besides," Kili stated firmly, "I'm paying."

"No you're not!" Ale nearly stood up and walked out of the room, judging by the consternation on her face, "I can't let you do that."

"Yes, you will," Kili grinned, "As a token of thanks."

"You can't..."

"You must allow me to thank you," Kili took a great gulp of mead "And then we will toast to your impending courtship."

Ale stared at Kili as if he was bonkers,

She took a deep, gasping breath.

"I'm not..."

"You will be. By Durin's Day... no, by Thorin's birthday. I'm sure of it."

In the dark tavern, Ale turned positively pink.

"I'm so happy for you, _Ayel,_" Kili pronounced deliberately, nodding at the stammering lass across the table, then he corrected him, "Or at least I will be, if that clout needs more iron in his stubborn head, I'll..."

"Rmphhh..." Ale pressed her lips together in surprise. She looked so exited and pleased by the idea, and Kili felt satisfied that despite her excessive personal inhibitions, Ale was really in love.

"Come, we'll toast. I'll buy you a mead... I think you're tired of ale?"

For once, Kili knew today wasn't about himself. He needed to be here for his friend, even if she was going to spend the whole day oogling for things she could have but would never let herself buy, bless her heart.

* * *

><p>Night fell, and the bargemanbowman's hospitality warmed even Thorin's (cold and unfeeling) heart. Here was a good King, a father to his children, a friend to all his loyal subjects. Dale had fallen once and Bard was prepared never to let it fall again. He would defend Esgaroth with every last breath in his body.

Still, the mutual respect that was so precariously formed between the Kings of Erebor and Dale had to be approached cautiously. Thorin found himself alone with Bard, when Fili, Kili, Ula and Ale left for a nighttime excursion, Dis and Sigrid retired to exchange cordialities and confidencialities, Oin read a bedtime story to Tilda, and Daena continued reading in the library with Bain.

The less words, the better, and both knew this to be true. More was to be understood by subtext. They smoked their pipes in one of the outer halls and looked over the twinkling, starry sky that enveloped the Lonely Mountain in mist.


	23. Chapter 23

AN: I'm not a big Kili/Tauriel fan, but I thought it would be an interesting plot device/conflict device in this story and would provide for lots of drama, muhwahwa.

Chapter 23

"I'm afraid," Oin sighed as after his hasty exit from the breakfast table, "They will not be finished any time soon."

Bard leaned down and whispered into his ear trumpet, "Just as well we have matters to attend to,"

"Aye," Oin nodded, looking up, "Dwarf women... love an argument more than anything else."

Bard straightened up,

"Well, I wouldn't say that only of dwarves..."

As they walked away, the loud and barely civil discussion continued...

"The Blacklocks who dwell in the mountains of the East came to Erebor frequently in the days of my grandfather," Dis shrugged, "If what you say is true, I would not put it past one of them to... to... "

Dis stopped, not wanting to put her indelicate suggestion in words.

"It is not as if I had not thought out that, _dear _cousin," Daena stared at her over the top of her long nose, a look Dis found despicably haughty, "And it certainly makes no difference to me..."

"Not even if the creature is half an elf?"

"Should you lay your eyes on Madghie that thought would be dismissed from your _silly, little, head..._" Daena wanted to say, but instead replaced the last three words with, "intuitive mind."

Dis could sense the unspoken snigger, and retreated a little hastily.

"Porridge," she scowled at the breakfast, "Just like my mother used to make."

"Porridge, however plain, is not without its virtues," Daena said pointedly, taking a large, deliberate spoonful, "It cultivates strong innards, resistant to poisons and such-like."

Dis felt like sticking her tongue out and asking for greasy bacon, but instead returned,

"The Lord of the Iron Hills must have found his great stores of oatmeal running short," she suggested, and was met with an unyielding stare.

"Hmph," was all Daena replied.

Dis put down her fork, a scowl blossoming all over her face - Malin never argued with her in that way, and Dis had never realized how lucky she was in that regard.

With practiced restraint, Daena made herself a little taller in the seat, an action that did not accomplish its usual effect in that they were made for Men, and had a rather diminishing effect upon dwarves, even the most regal.

"P'raps he did not have time for a proper morning meal. It is our custom to eat in silence, and converse only at the midday meal and supper, _if you please..._"

There was silence for awhile, then Dis shook her head.

"I know the legalities," Daena said when Dis stood to leave.

Daena had stood as well, for in any case, Dis was of the royal line and slightly ahead of her in terms of rank.

"I'm sure you do," Dis replied coldly, trying to disguise the fact that she did not.

"I am permitted to do as I please with regards to the employment of servants," Daena emphasized, meeting Dis's eyes, "More than anything, anything else... I value my freedom. It has been hard won and I will not relinquish it, not for custom or common regard."

Dis shrugged,

"A daughter of men in the mountain of dwarves?"

Daena nodded,

"A hired cook, nothing more. Not a political or diplomatic crisis."

"Excuse me," Dis nodded and left the room.

"Wait, forgive me," Daena lifted her head, "I meant no offense."

Dis lifted her eyebrows,

"None taken."

* * *

><p>Balin poured the tea and Epher surreptitiously made her exit, bearing an empty tray.<p>

The Visitor sat nervously, her eyes pleading a question.

"It has been a great long while, milady," Balin started to say.

"Indeed," she replied with a vein of humor, "Too long."

There was a pause, and the fair dwarrowdam of significant age fidgeted with nervous energy.

"I think you wish to delve straight into the matter at hand," Balin nodded, "I read your note."

She sighed, the faint lines of her brow creasing in a pattern that has Balin's eyes transfixed.

"Thank you. The pleasantries, however enjoyable, may be set aside for a later appointment, my dear friend for it is on account of my son that I speak... Drayr's ways and doings are not unknown to you, I am sure."

Balin nodded. He knew, of course, what that rascal was up to. Could he blame him? A fatherless lad...

"I cannot restrain him any longer..."

The words pained her, but she bravely continued,

"I cannot shield him either. The time has come when the evil in his heart is so great that I can no longer... I fear... I cannot keep silent. As his mother, even."

Balin closed his eyes.

"Listen to me!" she demanded, "What was between us in a chapter closed, but I plead with you to save what you can of my son's soul. Drayr... is unthinkably corrupt. We cannot allow this to continue, for more innocent lives to be lost."

"So he did?" Balin stood up now, setting the teacup aside and pacing, "I thought it might be so. I did not want to believe..."

"He stabbed two dwarves to death in their beds... And that is not the end of it, either! I tell you Balin, his wrongs are a blasphemy to the creation of Mahal. I will see his crimes turned upon his own head. The whores he keeps, imprisons, sells... the gold he lusts for..."

"Gold lust!" Balin felt bewildered.

"Bring him in! I will find the evidence, indeed it is almost within my grasp. But we must stop him. I tell you, Balin, I fear the King's very life is in danger."

"Wha...When?" Balin sank into a chair, his heart racing and his body weak with delirium, "When shall I arrest him?"

"Tonight. At the last bell."

She stood to leave, but her head hung down. A mother, betraying her own son.

"It was beyond your power, even as a loyal friend, Balin, to shield him from the consequences of his ways. Once I begged you to set him free... now I beg you to intervene on the side of the law..."

"It will be done," Balin nodded, "It will be done. I will have him questioned, myself."

* * *

><p>With much difficulty, Dis had convinced Urla to join the young folk on the picnic. She lent her a large, floppy straw hat that Urla happily drew over her face to cover the disfigurement. She had a measure of relief, for in Dale, there were many who yet bore of the marks of Dragon-fire, and such wounds were not considered anything out of the ordinary.<p>

"Lovely day for a picnic," Kili swung the basket and nearly dropped Sigrid's carefully packed basket.

Sigrid gasped.

"I'll take it," Ale held out her stout hands. They were well-worn and strong hands, not pale and soft, Sigrid noted. She glanced at Kili's companion with an air of curiosity, for it had once been more than obvious where Kili's affections lay - with a certain elf-maid. Sigrid was torn between revealing to Kili that Tauriel was due to arrive in Dale a day after the dwarves were to leave and keeping her remarks to herself. Did Kili still pine after the elven captain, Sigrid wondered, for if he did, Kili showed no indication. And this young dwarf-lady seemed more like a friendly household servant, though no less intimidating than most dwarves (for Ale bore a plain but lethal spear besides the weight of the picnic basket).

The small company made their way across the wide terrain in a merry throng.

Bain was tall, terribly tall, and he was leading the way to a shady, secluded spot on the tree-covered hillside. His own longbow was strung across his shoulder and a quiver of fletched arrows was its company.

"Over here." Bain said simply.

"Seems like a good spot," Fili nodded, checking around and mentally keeping track of each person. Fili was the oldest member of the party, and as a prince and heir, he saw it his duty to be the leader in the way his uncle was. Of course, Bain was of similar rank for all his youth, and they had just as much for regard for each other as their kings had, though with greater camaraderie and frankness.

Throwing the blanket over the grass with a quick movement of her light hands, Sigrid decided that she did not feel hungry enough for food, just yet.

Kili had carelessly discard his hooded cloak in a heap, and went a little way down to investigate spring rabbits hiding in the tall grass. Bain followed him.

Sigrid turned to see Ale pick up Kili's coat with a rueful expression and shake it out disapprovingly.

"You take care of the prince?" Sigrid asked.

"Nay," Ale shook her head, "I think he takes care of me. We were friends as children, and I fear he will never outgrow his ways."

Sigrid smiled, thinking of Bain and Tilda who were growing so rapidly.

"Is your name really Ale?" asked Sigrid after a pause.

"Ayel, it is supposed to be," Ale nodded, "But I only discovered so recently. I've... we've all become used to it, used it my whole life and all that.

"I see," Sigrid nodded. Ale was quiet, and she settled down on the picnic blanket rather nervously.

"I work as a maid,"Ale explained, "To a Lady."

"Oh?" Sigrid asked, "Which one?"

"Malin azbad," Ale said reverently, "She is very kind."

"Oh, _Malin!_" Sigrid exclaimed, "Now I remember. I thought I'd seen you before in Erebor. Yes, she is rather delightful, the first dwarf-lady I ever met."

Ale smiled.

"I venture to assume that you have had a little dealings dwarves as I have had amongst Men, until recently that is," Ale suggested.

Sigrid nodded,

"I know virtually nothing of your ways, secrets as they are."

Sigrid leaned forward in a conspiratory whisper, "I am always half-afraid that I will transgress some ancient dwarf tradition..."

Ale glanced up shyly at the tall figure, so elegant and tall.

"I see..."

"Like your clothes, for example," Sigrid pointed at Kili's cloak, "It is so finely made. I could never make something so fine. Dwarves are truly artists, are they not?"

"We love beautiful things," Ale nodded, "Aye, even the elves seek our jewels, for all they think us ugly."

"I know one elf that does not..." Sigrid gazed out at Kili in the distance thoughtfully.

"Hmm?"Ale looked up.

"Er... I meant nothing," Sigrid corrected herself, "Only that... well..."

"It does not matter, milady," Ale quickly said.

"Ah..." Sigrid tried to change the subject, "So what is your trade?"

"I don't... have one."

"Oh," said Sigrid. It would be thoughtless to comment that she was told every dwarf had a craft.

"All dwarves have a craft," Ale continued, "But I don't. I was a foundling."

"Ah, I see," Sigrid nodded, "Do you have to take after your parents' trade?"

Suddenly Ale chuckled. The thought made her face turn quite purple and she shook her head wildly.

"No... no... certainly not. Kili's father was a miner."

"He was?"

"Aye. And Urla's mother and father were silversmiths."

"I see..."

"They were murdered recently."

Sigrid's mouth was shaped like an "o".

"I wouldn't venture to ask most dwarves about their parentage," Ale played about with the grasses at her feet, unusually talkative.

"I see," Sigrid nodded, "I see."

For a moment Sigrid thought solemnly about her own deceased mother and how little they spoke of her, how difficult it was to answer strangers' questions.

"Ale!" Kili's voice came rumbling, "Come and see if you can spear a rabbit, I've got one with my bow..."

Ale glanced at Sigrid,

"Would you like to try, milady?"

"Me?" Sigrid shook her head, "The only weapon I wield is a kitchen. Haven't got the nerve or Da's way with the bow either... Tilda does, though."

"Excuse me, Lady Sigrid," Ale bowed and scurried away.

Sigrid glanced around to see Fili helping Tilda and Urla to pick flowers. She sighed and thought it a very beautiful day. An odious sour smell wafting from her pocket promised the delight of a pickled fish sandwich, Sigrid's favourite from her childhood.


End file.
